Beautiful
by I-am-the-survivor
Summary: Sherlock runs into a woman at a bar in America after his father forces him along on a business trip. The woman offers him an interesting preposition. Years pass when Sherlock suddenly runs into the woman once more this time she's in his home introducing herself as Joan Watson, his new sober companion
1. Chapter 1

**_We stall these updates of The Lying Angel to bring you yet another multichapter fic! Mislav messaged me with a request and I really hope I did it justice! I'm really sorry it took me so long but I had to finish up some school stuff. I hope you guys enjoy_**

 _ **May 22, 1999**_

Sherlock's not sure how long he's been here staring at the amber liquid in front of him watching the bubbles break the surface. That's a lie of course. He's been sitting here for approximately an hour thirty-seven minutes and fifty-eight seconds. Only approximately because in the time it took to think that three more seconds had passed.

His father had taken him from his university interrupting a rather invigorating session where the professor threatened to throw him out of class for interrupting their teachings… again. Wasn't his fault the bumbling moron didn't know chemistry from biology. You'd think to teach forensics they'd need someone who was actually trained. In the time it'd taken the woman to give a lecture he'd already read the entirety of the textbook. To his dissatisfaction, yet again, it was a class where it wasn't anything he didn't know. He'd taken quite a fascination with forensics and police investigations. Which lead to a rather angry professor when he constantly fact checked her in the middle of class.

Beside the point he supposes. Father had dragged him to America on _business_. Now he was in the ever so glorious New York, New York which surprise surprise turned out to be yet another mindless tourist trap masking the pests that littered subways, restaurants, motels, et cetera.

"Rum and coke." A voice clips through his thoughts dragging his head to his right side. The bar was pretty packed and the seats were all filled except for the one beside him, well it was at least. To his left was a not so pleasant smelling older gentleman ranting and raving about some American game on the television but he had the decency to keep his back turned to Sherlock. This new guest, however, appeared to be alone.

The woman appeared to be of asian descent around his age. Her hair was tied up messily, tendrils falling from the hasty ponytail. His eyes flash down to her fingers cataloguing every detail of her. May as well put his skills to test while he's waiting on his father. "You're a student?" He asks.

The woman startles, dark eyes flashing over to him. "Yeah how'd you know?"

"Paper cuts on your hands. Typical of a student studying for finals plus you're here alone on a Saturday night. Not exactly common for people our age."

"Our age?"

"No younger than twenty two yet no older than twenty five." He guesses.

"Twenty four." She smirks eyes sparking in the dim light of the bar. She's wearing a minimal amount of makeup, just bare enough that he can spy her freckles beneath. By all means and conventions, she's incredibly attractive. "Needed a break from studying." She shrugs with a small smile teasing at her lips. He partly wonders what he could say to get her to smile fully. Just another of those moments he supposes. "My roommate isn't exactly helpful. What about you? Transfer?"

"Not exactly." He shrugs sipping at his drink. "My father has business in America." He frowns in distaste at the whole scenario once again. "If you could consider it to be business." She throws him a questioning look causing him to shrug. "Since my mother died he's gotten involved in suspicious deals. I pretend not to notice but-"

"You noticed I was a student from the paper cuts on my hands." The woman scoffs.

"Precisely." He tips the rest of the drink back allowing the liquid to burn down his throat. "What does it matter if you can just block all of it out?" He gestures to the now empty glass. "Kind of hard to feel anything when you're numb inside." He chuckles. The woman's lips twist into a frown as she tips back her own drink as soon as it's set in front of her.

"Let me show you something. A little trick I have." Sherlock raises an eyebrow curiously.

"I don't even know your name." He laughs bitterly.

"Joan." She reveals with a small grin. She gestures to the bartender and the man brings over two bottles of whiskey. "Buddy of mine. Owes me for saving his ass from some vindictive chick set on ruining his life." She shrugs.

"My name's Sean." He lies. He's not even sure why he does.

"Do you want to get out of here?" She leans against the bar, the look in her eyes suggestive. He throws a look to his phone eyeing the screen for some interruption. He expects to be imagining this somehow. He eyes the alcohol wondering if he'd lost track of how many drinks he'd had. Statistically improbable… Suddenly Joan flushes, eyes flashing to the ground. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked that. I'll take care of your check." She shuffles through her wallet, a deep red blush crawling up her pale neck.

He's not sure what possesses him but he places his hand on top of hers. "Let's go." Her eyes stare at him wide, shocked. He smirks whipping out his wallet and paying for both of their drinks as well as the bottles before she can react. She gapes at the gesture stuttering to find the words. "I believe he deserves more than a little pay for the crowd he's putting up with right now, favor or not." He smirks. He leads them outside with her hot on his heels.

She seems to get her confidence back as soon as they step outside. She grabs his hand twisting him around to face her before pressing her lips to his. She's soft everywhere that he's hard. Her lips are smooth beneath his, fingers locked in a fist around his shirt. His hands settle on her hips pushing them backwards until she presses back against the brick wall of the bar. Her teeth nip at his bottom lip drawing a groan from his lips.

She pulls back first, a devilish smirk on her mouth as she slips from beneath his arms which had settled on either side of her head. She whistles signaling a cab to stop by and pick them up. She slides in the back seat gracefully, pale legs beckoning him to climb in after her. She murmurs an address to the driver before leaning back to him once more. Smooth, lean fingers loop in his tracing patterns into the back of his hand with her thumb. He categorizes the callouses on her fingertips contrasting against the otherwise soft skin. He closes his eyes listing off the reasons they would exist to distract himself from her white teeth nibbling on her swollen lips.

The cab screeches to a stop surprisingly quickly. He throws a look to Joan who's already climbing out of the car. "Thanks." She says tossing placing cash in the driver's upturned hand. Sherlock stumbles out after her following her into the apartment. "My roommate is out of town visiting family." She notes the weird look over her shoulder. He can tell by the tensing of posture as she climbs the stairs. "Her brother was in an accident and is in the hospital." Her voice is rough with emotion. So she knew the brother… "God I don't know why I'm telling you this." She laughs bitterly.

It's his turn to grip her hand now as she moves towards a door. A quick flash of keys confirms his suspicion that this is, indeed, her room. He presses her against the door kissing her quickly to ignore the tears building in her eyes. A complete stranger is confiding in him and here he is pinning her to the door. She doesn't seem to complain though as she wraps her arms around his neck, the cool bottoms of both bottles pressing against his spine through his t-shirt. She pushes him back suddenly to turn and fidget with the lock. He takes the opportunity to push her long ponytail to the side peppering her neck in kisses. Freckles dust the back of her neck like constellations teasing him to piece them together with his tongue. The door finally gives sending them both stumbling inside.

He catches her quickly taking both bottles from her slim fingers and placing them on a nearby table before pushing her back against the door. His lips attach to her neck as his fingers slide up her spine and into her hair. Gently he tugs on the hair tie freeing her ebony locks. Long hair falls gracefully over sharp cheekbones framing her face beautifully. She grabs the front of his tee dragging him back up to her lips once more.

He slides his hand up the back of her leg teasing the edges of her skirt. A long moan draws from her lips as his fingers trace the edges of her panties. He wonders for a second what other noises he could pull from those lips. Again she's the one to break contact, pushing him through the home. She tugs his shirt off discarding it somewhere in the hallway. Her fingers tug at his belt as she pushes him into a bedroom. His knees hit the edge of the bed as he notes how neat the place is.

Joan slides a slim leg over his lap straddling him. A manicured hand settles on his chest before pushing his back onto the bed. "Stop thinking." She growls before pressing her lips to his again. His fingers slide up the back of her thighs drawing a whine from her throat only for it to muffle against his lips. Their shoes clatter on the floor loudly as they kick them off together. Deft fingers undo his belt attempting to push them down without interrupting contact. He lifts his hips to help her, ending up in his hard on to press against her center. A gasp leaves her throat at the unexpected contact, hips bucking into his.

His fingers slide up her abdomen slipping up her button up with them. Her muscles contract at his touch, rippling pleasantly. Her fingers lace in his hair pushing his head against her chest. He smirks kissing her breasts through the slim material of her shirt. Her hips grind against his as he continues his descent lower still. Her entire body shivers as his lips make contact with her skin. Her fingers grip his chin forcing his eyes up to hers. His fingers still on her hips as he's floored by the look on her face.

"God you're beautiful." She breathes.

"Not me, you." He protests.

"You say you're numb…" She drones off, long nails stroking down the hair on his chest. Her eyes fall to his tattoos, biting her bottom lip. "I beg to differ." She chuckles. His eyes fall to his pants as buzzing echoes in the empty room.

"I'm sorry. That's father." His chin sets as he moves to get up from underneath her. She's quicker though snagging the phone from the pockets of his discarded jeans. She turns the thing off throwing it aside with a frown. "Life sucks. So what?" He flinches at the sudden change in attitude. She marches over to a drawer digging through the contents. When she finds what she's been looking for she saunters back over to him, eyes dark as they roam over his form. "Here…" She emphasizes straddling his lap and pressing the condom she'd found onto his chest. "Now… we forget." She commands rolling her hips against his.

"Joan…" He moans tipping his head back.

"Just for tonight. We don't think." Those sinful nails are back again, more rough this time as she scratches down his back. She guides his fingers up her thighs until they stroke her through her underwear. She's unbelievably wet, he notes as he pushes them aside. He slides a finger inside her catching her off guard. Her hips buck against his hand as a gasp leaves swollen lips. "No thinking." She purrs, lips dragging up his shoulder and the side of his throat.

"No thinking." He agrees inserting another finger inside of her. Her own fingers push his boxers down just enough for his cock to spring out freely. She wraps her hand around him stroking him. She finds the condom tearing open the wrapping before her hand is on him again, sliding the damned thing onto him. His head tips back allowing her to take advantage of the newly exposed skin.

He removes his fingers from inside her and in a daring moment he licks them clean. Something dark flashes in her eyes as she grips his chin pressing her lips to his harshly. Shuffling between them she somehow manages to rid of her skirt and panties as well as his boxers. She takes him in her free hand lining him up. She pulls away from him watching him intently as she sinks onto him. A smirk slips onto her lips as she begins rocking against them. It doesn't take her long before they're bucking against each other quickly.

Her fingers tug his from their bruising grip on her hips sliding up the front of her blouse. He looks up at her pleadingly almost asking for permission. She nods slightly and he rips the thing down the middle, buttons scattering across the otherwise silent room. His mouth attacks the tops of her breasts allowing him to hit a new spot inside of her. Her walls ripple around his cock drawing another moan from his lips. He snaps open her bra easily discarding both items of clothing. His lips attach to her newly exposed nipples.

"Good boy." She purrs combing her fingers through his hair. He runs his tongue around the hardened peak before sucking it between his lips once more. "Spank me." She growls. He can't help but obey, the smack resonating through the empty room. She moans tossing her head back and he can't help himself from spanking her once more. He wants to know all the noises he can coax from her lips, reddened from their rough kissing. "Pull my hair." The strands of her long locks tangle between his fingers. A long whine leaves her throat as he tugs her head back. He takes advantage of her exposed skin sucking on the silky spot at the edge of her jaw. He knows it'll leave a mark but he doesn't give a damn.

"Tell me what you want me to do." He pleads against her skin.

"Touch me." His free hand slides between them flicking at her clit. Her hips stutter as she's suddenly slammed with her orgasm. She doesn't stop rocking though. "Sean…" She groans raking her nails down his back roughly. He hisses through the pain and like a switch flicking he follows her close behind. He sobs her name into her skin at his release, arms wrapped around her as if she'll disappear if he lets go.

The aftershocks are long subsided when she finally rolls to the side and off of him. "Wow." He mutters staring at the ceiling. She takes the condom off of him and ties it up before tossing it into a wastebasket not far from her bedside. She hops up snagging his t-shirt onto her body before rushing off to the living room. She comes back in seconds both bottles in hand.

"It's going to be a long night." She smirks passing him one. She tips her own back taking a long swig of the contents. He does the same enjoying the fire of the whiskey as it burns down to his stomach.

They alternate between orgasms and drinks of whiskey. They don't collapse until the sun is beginning to rise. Her long ebony hair drapes over her chest as she breathes evenly. She's drunk a whole lot more of her bottle than him, her's half full and his three quarters. He knows he needs to get up. She likely won't remember this in the morning with how much she drank. Yet he feels his eyes getting heavily, lulled by the steady thrumming of her heart against his chest. He lets his eyes fall shut with a sigh as she burrows closer to him.

Just a few minutes...


	2. Chapter 2

**Heyo I return with a plan/news for once in my life.**

 **1\. In regards to the fic my plan is to build up more of a relationship between Joan and Sherlock in between scenes and once we get to the present will begin the "real" narrative of the fic.**

 **2\. In regards to how damn long this took to come out I am really sorry but I just got super tangled up in a massive shit storm of writer's block. On top of that my grandma visited from Arizona and my brother's baseball team has had 2 tournaments in the meantime (one of them being a week long tournament 4 hours from home) and I don't miss games.**

 _ **September 27, 2012**_

Sherlock hadn't stopped pacing since the end of the excursions. He'd checked his email on the progress of a cold case he was looking into on the matter of longitude and latitude correlating with the placement of bodies from a serial killer. Of course he'd stumbled past an email from his father regarding a sober companion coming to pick him up from the rehabilitation center. Underneath was the provided information on the woman who would now be living in the same house with him for the next six weeks.

What his father had failed to know that approximately thirteen years ago he'd met a woman of the same first name and coming occupation in the bar and proceeded to sleep with her that same night. He'd escaped in the morning without rousing her scribbling a quick hangover remedy on a post it before making off with all of his possessions.

He doesn't remember the full evening as he got regrettably wasted. He still remembers vivid details though. The feeling of her dark hair running over the back of his hand, the freckles dusted like constellations across her skin, her moaning his pseudonym.

Surely there were other Joans studying to become a surgeon in New York. He runs the possibilities through his brain. Records showed that this Joan had lived in the state since birth so moving from far away wasn't an option. Chances still could be likely though.

Briefly he hears shuffling from the other room. His previous partner must've awaken. He should probably warn her that he'd left the curtains open… He checks the clock observing it to be about 11:56 a.m. Well whatever poor sap was home sick or running late would get quite the show.

He thinks quickly flipping on the multiple televisions scattered through the room. If it was her he could test her with a movie playing on one channel. From the stupor of the night he did remember Joan laying her head on his shoulder while some sappy love story droned on in the background. She didn't fall asleep long after that. The subconscious memory would spark in her eyes revealing if she remembered him or not. If it wasn't her or perhaps if she didn't remember then he would appear as a loon who just left rehab without his escort.

"Excuse me Mr-" Of course the voice is familiar. His luck is that his father hires the one ex-surgeon turned sober companion that he'd slept with 13 years ago. He shushes her and pauses all of the screens with one button allowing the woman to continue. "My name is Joan Watson." Yes he is very very aware and familiar with the name. The woman in front of him is no doubt the one he slept with all those years ago. She doesn't look like she changed a bit. "Your father hired me to be your sober companion. He told me he was going to email you about me." He did. "I'm here to make the transition from your rehab experience to your everyday routine as smooth as possible so I'll be living with you for the next six weeks," Lovely. "Which means I'll be available to you 24/7." Even better.

"Do you believe in love at first sight?" Her mouth shuts and her eyebrows raise in surprise. "I know what you're thinking. The world is a cynical place and I must be a cynical man thinking a woman like you could fall for a line like that. Thing is," He takes a step closer taking away the space she'd so humbly put between the two of them. "It isn't a line." He does not stop moving studying her face for any flashing cues that may give away stimulated memory. "I have never loved anyone as I do you right now in this moment." Something dark flashes in her eyes.

She's just about to say something as he unpauses the movie. The actor on the screen repeats the dialogue word for word. She looks between the screen himself before her cheeks flush a lovely shade of red. Embarrassment and shame fill her wonderful features. Ah, so she doesn't remember. Lovely.

Regardless if she did remember she would've known him as Sean rather than Sherlock. The only clue to give away that it was him were some of his tattoos he'd actually had at that age. Joan shuffles to gather the things from her bag that had scattered across the floor in her shock. The woman still appears to be rather shaken even as the monologue ends clutching her bag tight to her chest. Confusion laces her expression. For the better too.

"Spot on." He says with confidence in his tone. "Sherlock Holmes." She takes his extended hand shaking it yet her expression remains shocked and a bit apprehensive. He looks her up and down once more for good measure. She's cleanly dress, well styled too. She's definitely done well for herself if the designer shoes would say anything. "Please don't get comfortable. We won't be long." He shrugs past her to go gather his shoes and shirt which had been scattered throughout the Brownstone during his earlier… activities.

"Mr. Holmes did your father tell you about me or not?" Frustration laces through her tone. Maybe if he keeps it up she'll drop the manner and leave.

"Uh…" Ah yes there's one shoe he'd been looking for. "He emailed. Said to expect some sort of addict sitter." Distaste spills off his tongue. His father likes to pretend he knows what's best for him even after all these years.

"Then he explained his conditions with respect to your sobriety."

"Then you mean his threats to evict me from this; the shoddiest and least renovated of the five, count them, five properties he owns in New York. Then yeah he made his conditions quite clear." He grabs the other shoe slipping it on. "I use, I wind up on the streets. I refuse your help, I wind up on the street. It's my understanding that most sober companions are recovering addicts as well." He studies. "But you've never had a problem with drugs or alcohol." With a quick bounce he;s back on his feet once more.

"Your father told you." She excuses.

"Of course he didn't."

"Well do you care to explain why you broke out of rehab the same day you were being released?"

"Bored." He answers plainly.

"Your were bored." She questions half annoyed and half inquisitorial. Maybe she'd make a good test subject. She does ask a lot of questions.

"No I am bored right now." He corrects. Where the hell did he sling that shirt? "It happens often you'll get used to it." He notes as he digs through a hamper to find another shirt. "Regarding your friends at Hemingdale I believe they should be thanking be for exposing flaws in their rubbish security system, wouldn't you?" He grabs a shirt from the dirty hamper giving it a quick sniff to make sure it is sufficient enough to pass in public without causing a distraction. "Excellent."

"There was a woman leaving just as I got here." She says slowly. "Did she get you high?"

"About six feet." He says rather smugly obtaining his belt from where it hung loosely on the ladder in between a pair of handcuffs. "I actually find sex repellent." He says. "All those fluids and odd sounds." For a brief second her head tilts and there is a sparkle in her eyes. He wonders if she's caught the lie. Well it's not precisely a lie. Sex in itself is disgusting but the ability to turn off is a rare and exquisite experience when you find someone distracting enough. It was something she'd taught him that night. Something he'd only managed to duplicate with Irene. He shakes his head quickly at the thought abandoning that dangerous path. "My brain and body require them to function at optimum levels so I feed those as needed. You're a doctor you understand."

"Uh, I'm not a doctor." She corrects politely. Ah so something bad happened then.

"Well you were a doctor. Surgeon judging by your hands." He studies. Though again he'd known this long ago. "Is your car parked near by?"

"Uh, yes it's just outsi-" She stops in her tracks. He reaches over grabbing his vest off a rack. "Wait how did you know I have a car?"

"Parking ticket." He says simply. "I saw it in your purse when you dropped it. Can't have one without the other can you?" He glances at the clock with a frown. Lovely, Gregson wouldn't be too happy with him. "We're late. We need to get going."

"Late for what?" There she goes with those questions again.

He checks his phone without answering her question. "Actually scratch the car. Manhattan bridge is down to single lane. We'll take the tube instead." Good it'll give him a little practice to hone in on profiling before they reach the scene. "Look at this place." He frowns with disgust. "Yuck. I'll wait for you to tidy it."

She glances at him in disbelief anger filling her dark eyes. Good. It shouldn't take as long as he initially accounted for to rid of her then. He just needs to play his cards right and she'll be gone. The sooner the better and that goes for the both of them. But she doesn't leave. He had left and she'd moved out but they both came back. To the Brownstone, to each other. They'd housed Kitty and a pet turtle named Clyde. She's stayed by his side unknowing of the truth all this time.

 _ **July 25, 2014**_

The first time Sherlock truly sees a crack in Watson's hard formed walls isn't until years after their first meeting. It'd been a particularly rainy summer in New York. Odd for the times but it ended up pertaining to a case. For the past 3 years children were disappearing from public places, ranging from ages 5 to 12. They were lured away from parents and drowned a few days after their disappearance. The man would leave the body on the side of the highway with a folded swan on top of their chest. It did not take the media too long after that to oh so cleverly nickname the perpetrator The Origami Killer.

He and Watson had only been on the case for six months when the eleventh child went missing. An eight year old by the name of Bobbie Hilton had gone missing after his father Malcolm Hilton took the child to the mall. The father claimed only to look away for a moment before the boy had gone missing. They'd also lost another child Ethan Hilton in an accident only a year prior. The little boy had wandered into the streets and Malcolm had been a few seconds too late trying to throw them both out of the way. Malcolm absorbed a good portion of the blow but it was not enough to save seven year old Ethan. The boy died after being in a coma for three months.

It was through this information that Watson managed to make a theory that the killer was kidnapping children of parents that they deemed unfit to be parents. From the Hiltons who experienced a tragic accident, to a family of previous drug addicts, to a woman who'd grown up with bipolar disorder neglecting to get her next dosage of medication. She'd seemed to hit the nail on the head.

From there they managed to track down a social service worker who'd made contact with at least three of the parents before the children went missing, the Hiltons included. They had no substantial evidence to work off of so they conducted an unofficial stake out following a man by the name of Stafford Hunt using an array of cars that Alfredo had loaned to the two of them. Hunt apparently spent an unusual amount of time at a warehouse not far from the Brownstone.

" _We have to go in." Watson insists already beginning to climb out the sleek black car. She'd been acting strange ever since this investigation begun. He'd just shrugged it off as the involvement of many small children. Their lives ended much too soon wracking onto her subconscious. They very rarely dealt with cases involving children as their victims._

" _We wait here for Marcus that was our deal for the stakeout remember?" He reminds her._

" _It's been sixteen days Sherlock. You and I both know that it's the longest Hunt has kept a child. If Hunt is our man we need to go now."_

" _You really believe he's our man don't you." Her eyes have lit up with passion since they'd found Mr. Hunt a week ago._

" _A connection to three out of the eleven families is the best we've found. The best that anyone has found in three years." She insists. He shifts uncomfortably weighing the options. Rain beats heavily on the room of the car in the silence._

" _Very well. However we wait until he comes out." Joan rolls her eyes but she doesn't protest in any other fashion. They sit in silence until a man runs out of the building and into his car. Once he rolls out of sight he hastily texts Marcus their location before following Watson into the building._

 _Watson whips out her flashlight surveying the area. Once they determine that they're the only two there they freely wander. The place is relatively empty. Abandoned crates left creaking open on opposing sides of the large building, pieces of the ceiling deteriorating allowing the rain to pour into the wooden building._

 _They split off as Sherlock goes off to investigate the several crates spread throughout the place. He'd managed to make it through two before a shout broke through the empty room._

" _Sherlock!" Watson's voice echoes spurring him into a run. She's near the center of the room flashlight abandoned on the ground. She's tugging furiously at something but she's only able to make it budge slightly. "Help!"_

 _He skids across the floor rushing to help her. Together they lift the grate fixed into the ground to expose a man made hole. Rain water pours down from the hole in the ceiling onto their backs. They reach shoulders deep into the water pulling the body of Bobbie Hilton from the depths. They settle him carefully and Watson checks for a pulse. She quickly goes into the procedure of CPR pressing into the small boy's chest._

" _Hey!" A voice calls out from the doorway. Stafford Hunt stands at the entrance pointing a gun at the two of them. "Step away from the boy!" His gun is pointing at Watson and Sherlock's heart thuds much too quick. He needs to think of a solution. He can hear Watson muttering fragmented sentences but she makes no move to stop what she's doing._

" _Easy." Sherlock puts up both of his hands standing. "Nobody needs to get hurt Mr. Hunt."_

" _Step away!" He shouts seeming to ignore him. Sirens break through the silence as cops rush onto the scene. Hunt points the gun back at the door giving Sherlock time to occupy the space between Watson and Stafford. Finally he hears the sputter from behind him. He looks back as Watson turns Bobbie on his side rubbing his back as he coughs up the water from his lungs. She wraps him protectively in her arms as his little body racks with violent shivers._

 _Briefly he can hear Gregson insisting that Hunt put his weapon down. From the sound of it he's not cooperating. Sherlock turns back to the scene just in time to see Hunt turn back towards them ready to fire._

 _Two gunshots and the scream of a child blast through the empty space. Stafford Hunt collapses onto the floor two wounds in his back. Paramedics rush in once the sign is clear taking Bobbie from Watson's arms. Her expression is blank, unreadable. No relief flooded her face now that this one was finally over._

 _Once they were both checked out they were allowed to go home._

Watson hadn't moved from her spot on the couch since she'd showered and changed. Her favorite red cardigan is wrapped around her like her own personal armor. She finally stopped shivering so there was that.

He places a cup of tea in front of her but she doesn't move to grab it off the table. He sits next to her silently offering his support in whatever demons she was battling within her mind. Without him.

"How do you do it?" Finally her voice croaks.

"Do what?" He studies her face but her expression continues to give away nothing. Watson is one of very few mysteries he does not believe he will ever solve. He doesn't want to either. Since that one night he'd faired off the thought of sleeping together. Not that he didn't want to. Watson is a very attractive woman. Her face is nearly perfectly symmetrical aside from the dusting of her freckles. She's incredibly attractive yes but he does not wish to risk their relationship. One that's so carefully put together.

She takes a shuddering breath before she continues. "How do you face society knowing all the terrible things we do to each other?" As if watching glass slowly crumble as does her facade. A tear slowly runs down her cheek and her body folds into itself. Her knees tuck into her chest and she places her head on them to hide her fears from him.

Carefully he pushes closer wrapping an arm around her to test boundaries. When she doesn't flinch or shrug him off he pulls her closer. Her face buries into his shoulder as soft sobs shake her body. His heart breaks as she weeps for the lost children, for the parents that had to suffer. He places his lips on the crown of her head as the tears soak into his t-shirt. It's remarkable that even her sobs are silent. The only things giving away her breakdown being the feeling of her tears and the shaking frame crumpled against his.

This was the first and only time Watson broke down in front of him. Sure she'd been angry and shouted at him. Regardless she never cried. Her eyes watered but she turned away before they fell.

Now however seeing her like this; broken and vulnerable… human. It somehow made her seem all the more beautiful.


	3. Chapter 3

**_Mentions of anxiety attacks are included in this chapter, please be wary if this could be potentially harmful to you_**

 ** _Okay so I have 2 sets of news, one personal and one fandom-ish related._**

 ** _Personal: Please be patient with my updating schedule from this week on cause I'm about to move out of state in order to go to college which is a pretty huge move for a girl that hasn't spent more than a weekend away from her parents so I'm begging you have some patience with me for the next 2 ish weeks I will try my hardest to work out some updates for you guys._**

 ** _Fandom-ish: I've made a Pinterest account (which is weird cause just last year I vowed to never use Pinterest…) Anyways there I will post aesthetics for my fics that I've made so if you want to check those out in order to take a peek at my looks into the stories I write I'm "lgbtliu"._**

 ** _ _Do you guys like the layout of the story so far? 2 stories per chapter in order to build up to future narritive?__**

 **February 5, 2015 - February 19, 2015**

Joan Watson is the epitome of secrecy. Not to say that she has a lot of secrets to keep but rather she keeps to herself. She'd quicker comfort others than allow others to comfort her much less even know anything is wrong at all. She talks to others in the precinct, sure, she even goes out of her way to talk to Not Marcus and Not Gregson. Joan has been lecturing Sherlock for weeks to at least learn the names of the other officers but he just can't see the purpose when they seem to have a revolving door of them. The blonde with green eyes that'd joined just a month ago was transferred to the ninety-ninth precinct and his partner left shortly after finding out she was pregnant with her first child. Really there are a lot more things that deserve his attention. That's not to say he doesn't notice when Watson doesn't throw her normal smile towards Glasses or when she denies the raspberry muffin Pink Tie offers her when they'd got his order wrong. Strange in itself because that is her favorite flavor.

He's carefully studying a case when he hears the shattering of a glass echo through the nearly quiet Brownstone. The only other sound being Clyde's quiet munching on lettuce. Watson had gone to bed nearly an hour ago. Judging by recent patterns she should be sleeping by now. It can't hurt to check though. He softly pads up the stairs pushing open her door softly. The window is open, curtains billowing in the cool wind of the night.

In the gleam of the hallway light he spies Watson sitting up in her bed, one hand curled up in the sheets the other clutching her chest. She doesn't look towards him but rather towards an invisible entity. It takes mere seconds to recognize that her body is trembling and she isn't breathing. A glass lies shattered, likely knocked off her table in a fit.

He springs into action placing himself in front of her. Sherlock flicks on the lamp beside her bed showering the room in a yellow light. Her eyes are glassy and she still doesn't seem to see him. He goes through a list in his mind of all the people who'd want to hurt her, hurt him… Memories of Watson coming home after Andrew had been killed flood through his mind.

He places a hand on her throat taking her heart rate without potentially startling her or hurting her more. Curiously her heart rate is rapid against his fingertips. At this stage her heartbeat would be slow and weak if it was Hemlock. Now he recognizes the panic reflecting in her eyes. Woken by night terrors Watson is having an anxiety attack.

He switches his tactics rushing downstairs to fetch a bottle of water. He's back up in seconds, his mind rushing to calculate the longest amount of time a woman of Watson's physique could hold her breath before passing out. When he reaches her once more she's taking shuddering breaths but she's no more aware of her surroundings than she was before. He takes her hand gently placing the water in her fingers and guiding it to her lips.

She drinks greedily as if she's been parched for days. Her body settles from uncontrollable trembling to the occasional jerk of limbs in shock. He holds her settling for talking about a case until she stops shaking. She's not cognizant throughout the ordeal but she seems to be soothed by his voice. The jerking would start up once more as soon as he fell silent. Steadily into the night her body relaxes and she falls into a fitless sleep once more. Carefully he extracts himself from her bed and cleans up the glass. By morning she's her old self once more and shows no signs of remembering any of the incident.

It becomes a habit now. He leaves something on her nightstand that she could easily knock over without damaging in order to alert him of another fit. He finds new methods to calm her every once in awhile. Once he takes Clyde with him and intertwines her fingers in his in order to trace the patterns of the tough shell. Another time he plays the violin for her. Those two are the more effective of methods. He tries incense, sensory isolation, calming sounds but nothing compares to her relaxation at the sound of his voice. She falls back asleep within fifteen minutes of listening to him ramble on about cases, Clyde's antics, the whereabouts of Alfredo and Mrs. Hudson. It doesn't matter what he speaks of as long as he speaks.

When her scream tears through the walls of the Brownstone he's pretty sure his heart stops. It's the kind of fear that has his heart sinking to his stomach as he scales the stairs two steps at a time abandoning the evidence lying in his lap. He forces the door open and surely enough Watson is sitting in the middle of her bed, eyes shut tightly screaming as loudly as she can. He leaps in settling his hands next to her in fear of startling her further. That's the last thing he wants right now.

"No!" Her voice breaks as she sobs, shoulders wracking with pain. He assesses her body for injury and is relieved to find no obvious signs of worry. Of course other than the normally calm and collected woman to be curled so tightly into a ball he's sure she'll leave marks on her own legs.

"Easy Watson. It's me."

"Please." She cries. He's careful to have her meet his eyes. He takes her chin softly into his fingers coaxing her head up to look at him. "Make it stop." She pleads. He winds his free hand into her hair pulling her close. She goes willingly clutching to the back of his t-shirt wrinkling the material in her fists. He pulls her until she's practically settled into his lap, pressing a kiss to her hair he lays them both down.

He begins his rambling once more eventually landing on the tale of the one time he'd been with his father on a business trip to America. He'd met a woman with the hair the color of a raven's wing and skin that was painted with stars dotting her skin. He brushes it off but at one point he swears he feels her spine shake a bit and a chuckle bubble against the skin of his chest where her face lies. He continues because she's never remembered any of these talks anyways. He's told her stories once more when she was more aware of her surroundings and no recognition flashed in her eyes. He tells her about the odd habits the woman had regarding the programs she watched. Eating habits that were certainly that of an American college student. He still shivers a little at the idea of kool aid and pickles combined like some Frankenstein concoction.

Suddenly she picks her head up and he swears for a moment he sees clarity flash in her eyes. "Sean?" She asks. His heart skips several beats as his eyes search his. He runs his options through his mind: take a gamble and confess, pretend he never knew her name, soothe her back to sleep and hope she doesn't remember any of this in the morning like always.

"Sh go back to sleep now Watson." He whispers pressing a soft kiss to the top of her hair. She doesn't even protest her hair tickling his chest as she burrows deeper. Funny, he'd never taken Watson for the cuddling type. His eyes feel heavier as he tracks her breathing. So long that it's even she will be fine he will be able to slip out safely.

In, two three four. Out, two three four. The pattern lulls him pulling him tighter into the sweet serenity. To the smell of lavender and sandalwood that is Watson. The light scrape of nails as she clutches to him as he shifts to make sure he doesn't fall asleep.

He can't help it as his eyes fall shut.

When he wakes Watson is sitting up clutching the blanket to her chest. Her hair is disheveled and her clothes likewise. She can feel his eyes on her back. "How long?" Her voice breaks the silence. The question holds so many implications in it only furthered by the silence. There is a lump in his throat and he wonders how much she's remembered.

"How long?" He questions.

"How long have I been having anxiety attacks?" She clarifies looking back at him now. Her eyes are red rimmed and her face a tad puffy. She'd been crying. "Answer me honestly."

"Two weeks." He confesses.

"Two weeks?" She spins around glaring at him accusingly. "Why didn't you tell me? You mean to say that you've spent two weeks in my bed without my knowledge?" She snaps.

"No." He rubs his face trying to gain some of the clarity that was just dangling right in front of his face but at the same time just out of reach. "I've come in here every night since the first incident. You couldn't breathe. I'd assumed…"

"March." She sighs.

"You never know with her minions. Dead or not." He frowns. "I got you a water and stayed with you until you settled then left. Last night was the first time the screaming started. I stayed with you until you fell back asleep like normal but it took longer than the others. I suppose I fell asleep in the meantime. I apologize."

"Don't." Joan's eyes fall to the bed sheets picking at a tear. "About seventeen years ago I got into a car crash with my roommate's brother. He'd been asking me out for months and insisted. He was in and out of the hospital for a really long time. One day they just found him collapsed in the living room. He died hours later of an aneurysm. Sixteen years ago today. They said it was directly caused by the crash." She lets out a long sigh and tips her head back to ward off the tears. "I was supposed to drive that night but he insisted. I walked out of it with nothing more than a few bruises and a broken toe. Michael had lasting brain damaged and died because I didn't take the damn keys." She turns from him now. He understands that she doesn't want him to see her cry.

"I'm so sorry Watson." He whispers placing his hand on top of hers. The tender moment is gone as soon as her phone rings. She picks it up quickly trying to expel herself from the conversation.

"Gregson needs us at a crime scene. Says it's urgent."

With a nod they separate once more from each other.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 **December 2, 2015**

"Truly you're making a bad habit of lingering in doorways almost saying what you wish to say." Sherlock turns over his newest project to find Watson standing in the door frame unbothered by the fact that he'd just caught her in the act of spectating him. He leans over his tattoo gun inspecting it thoroughly. They are currently working on a case that involved poison being laced in the ink.

The victim, Lily Morgan was a twenty one year old female who'd just desired getting a tattoo of her fiance's name across the base of her spine. Of course that didn't end well for Miss Morgan. Suspicions bounce between several suspects and they've no clue who to pin it on just yet.

"Are you going to say what's on your mind or am I going to guess."

"You know I always thought of getting a tattoo." The statement nearly made him drop his pen in shock. "I never found something with enough meaning I guess." She shrugs.

"Do you trust me?" The question slips past his lips before his filter even has time to process it much less stop the words from spilling out. Her eyes flash between her own stage of shock then to playfulness. In the look he can see the younger Joan once more. Heat flashes across his body and before he can register she's shrugging off that red cardigan she holds so dear along with the tank top. She remains standing in nothing but a sports bra and shorts. It's a challenge, he registers.

"For my eyes only. I don't want anyone else to be able to see it." She says with a pointed look and a smirk. It's as if she's teasing him. Trying to see if he'll go through with it. He lays a towel down on the sofa with a small smile.

"Very well." He gestures to the couch. "Lie down on your left side won't you?" She does as he says. He knows she commonly sleeps on her left side in order to turn herself away from the door when he suddenly barges in without question. "You didn't answer my question. Do you trust me?" He pulls on a pair of gloves fiddling with the machine.

"With my life." His hands stall for a second but he nods it off.

"Good. Now try to relax as best as you can." He brushes his thumb over a pattern of freckles he could use as inspiration. Yes this will do quite nicely. He grabs a razor just to be safe carefully going over the area of question. He gets to work making sure at all times he isn't causing her too much pain. Watson isn't the first person he's tattooed other than himself but he's not willing to purposely cause her any sort of harm.

She's grabbed a pillow hiding her face in it to muffle the quiet whimpers she can't help from escaping her lips. He smiles softly once he finishes pulling away to gaze at his handiwork. She moves slightly in a move that he believes she intends to look at what he's tattooed into her skin. He places a hand on her shoulder stilling her. Rather than having her move and cause potential discomfort to herself he snaps a picture of it using his phone and passes it to her.

"Sagittarius?" She questions. He'd used a pattern of her freckles to create a constellation of her zodiac sign just below her breast and on her side. "I thought you didn't believe in horoscopes?" She teases with a small smirk.

"I don't believe in them I believe in coincidences. A sagittarius is naturally curious, a clear thinker and tends to look at the bigger picture. Playful by nature they wish to experience life to the absolute fullest whether that be in learning to hone into a new skill or learning the truth. They are optimistic and inspiring in every single way." Her eyes have not left his and suddenly he realizes the affection of which he was speaking.

"Sherlock…" A sharp knock cuts off what Watson was going to say next breaking the tense moment between the two of them.

"Ah that must be Marcus with the materials I need. I just can't seem to synthesize the ink that was used in the parlor on Ms. Morgan. Stay put I'll bandage you up once I get the things I need."

"Wait are you saying that you used experimental ink on me?" She moves to sit up but the pain shooting through her side keeps her down.

"Of course not. Don't you trust me?" He asks with a teasing grin before prancing off to answer the door.

"Sherlock!"


	4. Chapter 4

**I'm back! Sorry for the length of time between updates. I hope you understand that I'm still trying to adjust to the college life which is balancing free writing and school related writing. Anyways I hope you enjoy the update.**

 _ **MENTIONS OF DRUGGING, DISMEMBERMENT, AND SADISTIC SERIAL KILLERS. PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK**_

 **August 2, 2016-August 6, 2016**

The sounds of a steady clicking fills the practically empty hallway as Sherlock leans against the wall keeping watch. The only other person was the strung out junkie slumped against a door occasionally filling the tense silence with the begs to his girlfriend to let him back in. Watson kneels on the floor picking the lock to the apartment of their newest suspect.

Women from Pratt-Institute had been going missing periodically over the past 3 years. Most of the cases were the same where the woman was last reported seen at a frat party drunk off her socks. The cases now added up to 16 missing women. All were freshmen or juniors in college at the time that they went missing and none were reported to be seen since.

Their investigation lead them to a one Grant Matthews, quarterback on the football team and probably the only one on it that actually had the minimal amount of talent to make a good player. Matthews has been showing signs of aggression the past 3 years. After 2 long weeks of unburying Watson had discovered that Grant's criminal record had been generously covered by his father and their bank account. Of course there had only been minor accounts on there: vandalism, destruction of property, trespassing. Nothing out of order for rebellious teenage years.

Except for the fact that a roommate of one of the missing girls, Elizabeth Ward, reported that her roommate had been frequently talking with Matthews before her disappearance. Her roommate had been one of the most recent of reports only going missing a month prior to the investigation.

Finally Watson exhales as the handle turns and she pushes the door open. She stands with a proud sort of grin on her face that she gets whenever she accomplishes even a minor task. "That's a new record." She says before slipping inside. He chuckles before following her into the dimly lit apartment.

The first thing that hits him is the utter stench of the place. Foul cologne covers a pungent body odor exuding from an ever growing pile of laundry in the corner or the room. He wrinkles his nose in distaste before pulling on his gloves and beginning his investigation. They work in a comfortable silence as Watson cards through books and he studies the photos on the walls.

"Sherlock?" Watson's voice calls from the bathroom after twenty minutes of searching. As he steps inside he sees her holding two different pill bottles.

"Are we going to play a guessing game or I meant to know what those are?" He quips.

"Prozac and celexa." She notes passing the bottles over. "Normally they're prescribed for anxiety and depression but in the case of Matthews I'd say he's been experiencing anger issues."

"That's quite an assumption to make."

"Not when he's also taking steroids." She shrugs. "Look at the label. They're prescribed from 2 different doctors. If I had to take a guess, they don't know about the steroids." She slips the medicine back into the cabinet. "If I had to take a guess daddy dearest wasn't too happy with his son going to a fine arts college and has him taking steroids to assure he's the best on the football team. It's easy to make an impression in the league when you're the only person scoring."

"Good work Watson." She tries to hide her smile by looking at the ground but he sees it nonetheless. He makes mental note to compliment her more often.

An hour passes again before a loud bang resonates from the other room Watson is in. She'd found a particularly high end lock that she'd been working at for about twenty minutes to pick. He guesses she'd finally gotten it open by the sound. He makes his way towards her.

"Watson we're meant to be-" His speech stops as he spots her. Her face is a sickly pale in the light of her torch. Even from across the room he can see that she's trembling all over. He hadn't seen her this panic-stricken since her last anxiety attack nearly a year ago now and it has his heart sinking in his chest. Gloved hands cover her lips muffling the cross between whimpers and horrified screams trying to escape her throat.

Lying abandoned on the floor is a red binder thickly filled with waterproof covers. He rushes to her first pulling her away from whatever was inside that she saw. She almost instantly calms in his presence. She's still trembling but at least the noises cease. He goes to the binder next investigating what had her so shaken.

Inside are developed photos of the missing women but something's not right about them. Their eyes are vacant but cheeks still colored. He'd drugged them, tied them up, and then took photos of them. He flips several pages later except in these they're dressed up and posing. Their hair is different as well as their outfits.

His heart falls to his stomach when he sees the stitches across the necks. He'd killed them… Dressed them up and posed them…

"Hey!" Grant Matthews stands in the doorway pointing a gun at the pair. "Those are mine! Give them back!"

He drops the folder quickly raising his hands into the air. "Grant you don't want to do that."

"I'm not going to jail." He growls. However Watson doesn't seem moderately fazed by the gun as she approaches him, both hands raised above her head.

"I'm not going to hurt you."

"Well I am. Step the fuck back." He threatens.

"Grant it's okay." She soothes. "We're here to help you okay?"

"Like hell you are." Yet she doesn't stop. She comes closer and closer until the loud bang of a gunshot echoes through the tiny apartment.

"Watson!" He screams rushing to her. However, instead of her it is Matthews who collapses rocking back and forth on the ground.

"I didn't mean to kill her." The boy whimpers. "I was just doing what he told me to do. He said it'd make her sleep. I didn't want to hurt her. He said he'd get Mellie next if I don't help." He pushes his hands into his eyes rubbing the tears away. The gun skitters across the floor allowing Sherlock the chance to examine it. All it was loaded with were blanks…

Watson kneels next to the man who all of the sudden looks very similar to a scared child. "It's going to be alright Grant. Okay?" She comforts placing a hand on his arm. It's nothing like the woman he saw not ten minutes before. Her voice was strong and her movements sure. "My name is Joan Watson and this is my partner Sherlock Holmes."

"I can't let him hurt Mellie."

"Who's Mellie? Is she your sister?" A sharp nod comes from the boy as a more violent sob shakes his form. "Melinda Grant?" He shakes his head.

"Melinda Tyler. She goes to Brooklyn High School. She's a senior."

"We'll get protection for your family okay? Does that sound okay?" He nods jerkily once more. "Now I need you to explain to me what's in the binder." A whimper comes from his throat once more. "Hey we're going to help you so I need you to help us okay?"

"It was just supposed to be pictures. I didn't do nothing to them." He cries.

"Sherlock get him some water." Watson commands. He wonders when she became so good at compartmentalizing her feelings. He can see the storm in her eyes. The regrets filling them as she helps this man who'd drugged the girls in the photos. Yet she's so sure in helping him. She grabs his arm pulling him towards the bed.

Sherlock goes to the kitchen grabbing a solo cup and filling it with tap water before returning. He passes the man the cup trying not to let his posture give away his distrust.

"Thank you." He whispers. "My dealer, Daniel, he was the one that started giving me the drugs. Swear I didn't do nothing to those girls except take their photos. Until one day he gave me a big dose. Said it'd keep her out for a while. I'd be able to get more pictures that way. He said he could help me…" He shakes his head. "It killed her. I killed Veronica." Watson tenses but she nods for him to continue. "Danny… He became crazy after that. He wanted more. He took Ronnie's body… He got the damn thing stuffed and he… He took more pictures and sent them to me… He asks me if I like his doll." He laughs harshly. "I tell him I'm done. No more. But he comes back with a girl… Bella… She put up a fight. She tried to get out and he cut her throat. Said if I told anyone about him or his dolls that Mellie would be next."

"She won't."

"He sends me pictures of Mellie when she's out with her friends. He's always got eyes on her I don't know how."

"What's your dealer's name?" Sherlock speaks now.

"Daniel… Daniel Thompson."

"You need to turn yourself into the New York precinct. Ask for Marcus Bell. He'll get us back to you. Alright? We'll discuss terms of getting your family protection. Bring the binder. Does that work for you?" He asks

"You'll protect her?"

"You have my word." He nods. "Shall we Watson?" She gives a final squeeze to the boy's arm before following him out of the door. They don't speak until they're in the cab on their way to the Brownstone once more to await the call from Marcus. "How did you know the gun wasn't loaded?"

"I didn't."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He has to admit the smell is at least better than that of Grant's bedroom but not much more so. Sherlock peers out at the large crowd mingling in the middle of the dining room turned ballroom. The place reeks of expensiveness: from jewelry, to hairspray, to perfume and cologne. Money in the end that could've been used for much better uses but rather had a dress to be purchased and tailored for this one evening only to stick it into the back of the closet.

"Hey," Watson calls out for him snatching him from his mindspace. Watson isn't exactly out of place either when it comes to expensive clothing but he can at least say from photos he'd seen that she's worn the garment in question on more than one occasion. It's a floral blue dress that hugs her torso and flares out at her hips. Her hair settles in loose waves down her shoulders but only after 2 hours of convincing her that waves would suffice more than the complicated updo she'd chosen earlier in the day. "Cover, remember?"

"Ah, yes. Apologies Watson." He smiles softly squeezing the arm that's linked in his. Daniel Thompson, Matthew's dealer, turned out to be Jared Yates upon further investigation. The discovery led them to this beneficiary ball where Yates would be attending with his wife who likely has no idea of her husband's second life. Quite sad really. She likely has no idea where their money is actually coming from. Just benefitting from the losses of lives, disappearances of young girls...

Now they're here posing as patrons for the charity looking to snag a few drinks and maybe exchange contacts with other higher ups. Rather they're looking for Yates to snap a photo of the man and confirm that he is indeed the man they expect him to be with Grant. Once they do that they're free to make their leave.

"Names?" The man at the desk asks.

"Tobias Bryan and this is my wife Camille." After a few tense seconds of clicking the man gestures for them to entire allowing Watson to release the breath she'd been holding. At least Everyone kept up their end of the deal. He can only imagine what sort of spectacle they'll have imagined up for him when he returns to the Brownstone. However it is the price that must be paid.

Watson takes the lead guiding them into the center of the crowd of dancers. This way they'll both have an equal vantage in their dance to gaze upon the room and find their man in question.

He comes to regret his choice as soon as her body is pressed against his. His mind almost immediately short circuits, instead focusing on everything that is Watson. The smell of her hair, her perfume, the texture of the dress on her hip where his hand rests, the feeling of her soft hand in his, the warmth of her pressed against him. She only gives his hand a small squeeze reminding him once more of where they are.

"There are guards everywhere." She notes nearly halfway through the first song. He had marked the same as well. They blend pretty well into the crowd if it is the decent eye that is watching but they've both had far too much practice. They wear black suits with varying colors of ties but the earpieces are what marks them as they are.

"Well it's a good thing we aren't stealing anything." He jokes lightly earning a small laugh from his partner. His heart swells at the sound wishing he could ignite it more often. Under the scrutiny of his gaze or the heat of the crowd a deep red blush spreads from underneath the breast of her gown rising to her cheeks.

Absolutely breathtaking…

"Shall I go get us drinks?" Watson gives a disapproving gaze before he interjects her protest. "Worry not Watson. I spied sparkling water on our way in. Try not to get swept away by too many suitors." He teases earning another small smile from her. He quietly notes to make these teasing jokes more often.

When he returns she's gone from the spot he'd left her. His heart drops for a few seconds before he spies the sweeping dress within the dozens. She spins just in time to reveal the face of the man she'd swept up. However it does not raise his confidence any more when he recognizes the face of Jared Yates, the man they'd been looking for.

He approaches quickly taking care to twist and turn to avoid the bumping bodies from spilling their glasses. Watson quickly halts upon spying him steadily coming through the crowd. A smile spreads across her face as she guides Yates to him.

"Honey look I found." She grins in exaggerated excitement very unakin to the Watson he knows.

"Uhm."

"Seriously?" Her grin falls to exasperation. "This is Jared Yates. We were talking about his book just last night! I'm so sorry Mr. Yates he just has the worst memory."

"Quite sorry." He sighs sticking out his hand for him to shake. "I'm Tobias Bryan. I take it you've had the pleasure of meeting my wife."

"Camille is lovely." Watson bows her head in feigned embarrassment at Yate's compliment. "She was just telling me about your business. I've got contacts if you need any help legally." He winks earning a playful laugh from Watson.

"Would it be too much to ask for a photo? My sister would just be incredibly jealous."

"Not at all." Watson passes the phone to Sherlock who'd in the midst of the conversation abandoned their drinks on a passing waiter's tray. He snaps the photo quickly stashing the thing safely into his pocket. "Thank you so much. It was wonderful meeting you."

"Any time." Yates grins as Sherlock guides her away with a hand on the small of her back.

"What were you thinking?" Sherlock whispers in a hushed tone as he directs them to the back of the dining room. "That was not a part of the plan."

"He approached me and asked me to dance while you were away. I saw an opportunity and I took it." Her hand slides down his arm that was leading her instead lacing her fingers in his. They were unconscious behaviors that they'd practiced long before they even considered taking undercover cases.

"And if he'd taken you?"

"Marcus and Gregson have cops on every exit of this place. I knew what I was doing Sherlock." He halts suddenly but she keeps moving. He pulls her back by the link in her hands pressing their bodies together once more. His heartbeat drowns out everything he hears as he cups Watson's cheek with his free hand brushing back the stray curls that fell forwards in the movement. "Sherlock?" She breathes. The blush has returned once more. Her eyes flash all across his face studying him. She's so good at that.

"Yates is still watching. I believe he recognized me." He whispers.

"What do we do?"

"Do you trust me?" A beat passes, heart in his throat knowing what's to come next.

"With my life." He swoops down with her words capturing her lips with his. It's just for their cover he tells himself as his other hand moves to the small of her back pulling her closer. It's just to fool Yates as her bottom lip slots between his. It's just for the case as her arms wrap around his neck and she falls into his embrace. Though there's no denying that he stays there a little longer than necessary.

Her lips on his is so familiar. He's suddenly overwhelmed with memories of that night all those years ago. The sounds she made, the way her hair looked spilled over his hand onto the pillow, her legs wrapped around his. He pulls away brushing her hair back once more. Her cheeks are flushed and he swears for half a second he sees the memories flash in her eyes. They're gone as soon as they appeared however.

"Is it clear?" She whispers.

"Yes. We should go." Watson only nods settling into cover once more merrily leading him out of the building. She drops his hand as soon as they exit taking the phone from his extended hand. She pulls up the photo to check the quality when a drunken man pushes past them rather roughly sending her cell phone tumbling to the concrete.

"The hell!" He exclaims ready to have words with the drunk.

"It's fine Sherlock." Watson sighs picking up the phone. He turns back to help when he spies a fast approaching figure. He's too late to warn her as Yates slips from behind Watson pressing a knife to her throat.

"You really think I wouldn't recognize you huh?" Yates laughs. "Really?"

"Let her go." He says softly.

"Why? Seems like she means a lot to you. Your little stunt could've fooled anyone else." He chuckles. "Maybe I should take her with me for security." Watson winces as the knife digs into the skin dripping red down her skin.

"Where are they buried." Sherlock demands.

"You're kidding." He tips his head back letting out a fake belly laugh.

"Where are the girls buried." He repeats. "You cared for them did you not? So why did you kill them?"

"I will kill her!" He threatens. Watson's whimper and gasp breaks his heart but it must be done.

"Rachel, Chloe, Anya… You loved them didn't you Mr. Yates? But they wouldn't listen. They wanted to leave you. They were going to tell your wife."

"The hell do you know!" Yates yells now pointing the knife towards him. Watson moves quicker than he can even react slinging the arm that holds the weapon over her shoulder forcing it to point to the ground. She struggles valiantly trying to pry it from his grip. A cry and the ripping of fabric breaks through the otherwise silent streets. She stomps on his toe finally sending the metal clattering to the ground. Yates slaps her across the face sending her sprawling to the ground. He takes off into the night leaving her collapsed on the ground.

Sherlock crouches next to Watson inspecting her for injury. Blood drips from a tear on her thigh spilling onto his hands. He passes her his cell phone with shaking hands. Marcus had already been dialed but he found no words other than his distress for her safety.

"Marcus he's heading your direction." She reports. "We're at the east exit. He got my leg with a knife." Sherlock shucks off his jacket pressing it against Watson's leg. "Yes. We got the photo." She nods. "Alright. Goodbye."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It isn't until late into the night that Sherlock finds himself alone with Watson once more. Doctors had been in and out all night inspecting her, assuring him that she is in fact alright. The air is tense between them, almost electric.

"Are you going to say what you want to say or are you just going to stare at the wall?" Watson murmurs tiredly. She's at least comfortable in her pajamas instead of the ball gown. Mrs. Hudson was kind enough to bring some when he called reporting that they were on the way to the hospital. Her red cardigan stands out in the room filled with whites and pale blues.

She ended up with thirteen stitches in her thigh and a mild concussion from hitting the sidewalk when she fell. She's lucky it's not worse… He's lucky it's not worse.

"Sherlock?"

"Why did you fight him?" He asks finally.

"Are you serious?" Her eyebrow furrows.

"Quite." He nods feeling the blood boil beneath his skin as his anger rose. "You've been acting reckless with this entire case." He accuses pacing the length of the room. "First with Grant and the gun, then talking to Yates on your own, then fighting him!"

"What was I supposed to do? Stay in his grasp?" She snaps.

"Marcus was on his way! I signalled him as soon as we stepped out! I was stalling Yates until he got there." Sherlock pinches his nose in frustration trying to calm down. "What if he'd recognized you in there? What's to stop him from stabbing you then disappearing into the crowd? Did you think of that?"

"And like you haven't taken a risk before?" She shouts. "I did what needed to be done for that case!"

"To hell with the case!" He approaches her now grabbing her by the shoulders. "You could've been shot. You could've-" His throat cuts off his speech as his hand slides up her throat tracing the small bandage where he'd cut into her neck.

"I'm here Sherlock." She whispers placing her hand on top of his.

"Please don't do this again." He murmurs pressing his lips to the top of her head. It's unusual for him to initiate this sort of closeness but right now he just needed to hold her. To know she's alive and with him. Her forehead rests against his chest.

"Only if you promise the same."

"I will never intentionally hurt you Watson." His fingers trace her spine counting each vertebrae as a calming technique. "I can't lose you." He confesses. The silence in the air is thick and he swears for a second he feels his shirt getting wet where her face rests.

"You won't."

 **March 23, 2017**

A deep sigh falls from Sherlock's lips as he settles into a chair near by him. It;s yet another obnoxiously long case finally settled and under the belt. They'd been getting string after string of long cases since late last year. Most of the time they'd take two weeks tops to tie up a case but this most recent one had taken a month and a half to finish up. He's beginning to believe that they're slipping up. Each case is followed by another with increasingly more attention needing to be called. It's exhausting to say the least. As far as he can recall neither of them had taken a break in months.

He nearly jumps out of his skin when Watson's voice cuts through his deepest thoughts. "Maybe you should get some sleep." He throws her a startled look. He hadn't heard her come in. "Shinwell was working so I came home instead." She shrugs setting her bag down next to her. "Seriously though you look strung out. When was the last time you slept?" She asks calmly. He looks to her and he sees the same signs she likely sees on him. Her eyes are sunken and cheeks hollow.

"32 hours ago." He mutters quietly. It's not even close to the days he'd gone without sleep but the dissatisfaction is evident in her worn out features. Comfortable silence falls between the two of them. Only the creaks of the Brownstone can be heard in the quiet of the night.

"When was the last time you've had one of your… appointments?" The odd question in itself is enough to wake him from whatever exhausted state he lingers in. It is a very forwards question, shocking coming from anyone. Watson, however, is something extraordinary in herself. The question coming from her who's always been so… prudish in the cases of these scenarios.

"Months. Why do you ask?"

"I think we're both able to register that we've been off our game recently. Cases that should take us a week take two or more. We're both a bit distracted." He opens his mouth to interject but she cuts him off quickly. "Don't you dare deny it either."

"I wasn't going to. In fact I was going to propose you take tomorrow off." He suggests. "Go see Emily or whatever her name is."

"Seriously? You remember everything don't even begin to pretend you don't remember her name." She plops down beside him with a heavy thump. "I'd be shocked if you didn't know her entire life story already."

"It's not my fault you're incredibly loud on the telephone." The small comment earns him a smack with the pillow lying in close enough for Watson to reach. He chuckles tiredly smiling at her. "I'm kidding."

She rolls her eyes lying her head back against the couch to stare at the ceiling above her. The silence spreads through the Brownstone for a few minutes longer before she chirps up yet again. "When did you learn that sex was so… helpful to you?"

"Why are you so inquisitive today?" He prods back.

"I asked first." Sherlock shifts trying to gauge her emotions without looking at her. It could just be innocent curiosity. The lessening of boundaries could simply be the exhaustion in the air. It wouldn't be the first time that the lack of sleep brought forth such questions.

"Shortly after I got addicted I-"

"You're lying." Her accusation makes him jump. She'd been studying his expressions as he was staring into the smouldering fire. "Your cheek twitches when you lie to me. Come on." He looks at her now. There's no familiarity in her eyes that wasn't already present before. She does look worn though. Her hair is rumpled from the windy day, makeup nearly worn away from the constant activity.

He sighs, "I was 22. Just nearing the end of University."

She hums for a second. "Who taught you?"

Sherlock clicks his tongue shaking his head. "I answered the question. It's your turn now."

"My roommate in college did the same thing. She'd hook up with at least one guy per week. They'd always rush out of her room half dressed trying to tug on their pants to get to class." She shrugs absentmindedly. Exhaustion seems to finally be settling into her as her eyes keep drifting shut. She forces them back open seconds later determined to keep up the conversation.

"Did you ever…"

"A few times. Nearing finals when things got too intense." She ducks her head as her cheeks begin to flush into the same shade as her cardigan. "Always when I was drunk."

"It was a woman."

"What?" Her head lifts once more as if confused by the question.

"A woman taught me my methods." He sighs. "My father was on a business trip in America and forced me to come with him."

"Business…" The inquisition is punctuated with a yawn. He's half tempted to cut the conversation off here and persuade her to go up to the room instead.

"As you'd expect." He confirms with a solemn nod. "I met a woman in a bar and she took me back to her place. She rid of my cell phone and I spent the night. Of course I think you can guess what happened from her."

"Did you ever see her again?" This question is mumbled almost unintelligible.

"No…" If she detects the lie this time, she doesn't give it away. He waits for her next question, surely she has more. Rather he stills when he feels a light pressure on his shoulder.

Watson's head has slipped now so it's pillowed against his arm rather than the couch. Raven tresses have slipped out of the half ponytail holding them up tickling his arm. He doesn't dare move as he watches her breathe deeply. He quietly wonders when the last time she got sleep was. It's different to see her asleep this close rather than when he's pondering waking her or simply watching from afar. Her features are unguarded, face serene.

The last time he'd been this close was after she'd fallen asleep on his chest after an anxiety attack. His stomach flips at the memories of her screams, the tears streaking down her reddened cheeks that will never escape his mind. He cradles her arm lightly ready to move her when she burrows deeper.

"Stay… Sleep." She mumbles into his sleeve. All he can do is nod as he lets his head drop onto hers. She smells of sandalwood, honey, and something that's so uniquely Watson. His heart thumps in his chest for a few seconds incredibly loud in the otherwise quiet room. Letting his eyes drift closed he focuses on his senses; the crackling of the dying fire, the smell of Watson, the rise and fall of her chest against his arm. Syncing his breath with hers he finally lets himself slip into the peacefulness.


	5. Chapter 5

**I'm so sorry for the extended absence I've had a ton of stuff on my shoulders lately. First things first, I had another set of exams for college and then I started this new series called The Gifted (by the way I totally recommend to everyone). Finally I've settled enough to punch out another chapter.**

 **Anyways I hope you guys enjoy this chapter I'm actually hella proud of it. The first part of this chapter was inspired by James Veitch is a Terrible Roommate (look it up on Youtube) if you haven't seen it yet, I 1000% recommend it's so funny and it just reminded me so much of Joanlock that I couldn't help but write it in.**

To Sherlock's credit they hadn't had an interesting case in about a month. It's honestly a miracle that he's made it this long without any of his usual shenanigans. Normally at this point he would've conducted an experiment involving explosions or a case study on Watson's behavior at different intervals based on how much sleep she could get to function to the best of her ability. Not that he didn't have substantial research on the subject already, more research could never hurt though.

It starts out with one. Watson's lip quirks up as they pass a tiny display at the grocery, it's a stack of rubber ducks carefully stacked in a pyramid. It's an impulse buy not that he looks back at it but it made her smile so in the end it was worth it. It quickly becomes a game to test her observational skills. One day the duck disappears from its usual precipice on the shelf just below her products. If she notices its disappearance she doesn't mention it.

However hours later he hears her call from downstairs, "Sherlock why was the duck in the cereal box?" To simply put it he'd moved her favorite cereal 3 inches to the left after sticking the duck inside. She should've noticed a lot sooner but at the same time he hadn't heard her pad down the stairs until a mere 45 minutes ago.

Then it strikes him that he hasn't pushed her to her top level annoyance in far too long. He almost misses her screaming his name from the other side of the Brownstone. So he buys more rubber ducks. With his devious plan now in action he changes their orientation every day when he's sure she's either not home or in deep slumber. One day he arranges them as if two are getting married, then in a cult like circle around a tube of toothpaste, even draping two of them in shreds of toilet paper as mummies for Halloween. His particular favorite was when he managed to perfectly recreate the scene from Titanic after the boat sinks.

After all of this effort there's still no reaction. To his shock and appall, she didn't even address the ducks. By all logic by now he should've at least gotten a smile out of her but no. So he ups his game purchasing a load of them for a shockingly cheap price off this Amazon user SpookyBoi. Three days later a box filled with 95 rubber ducks is delivered to Marcus' home. He couldn't very well set the delivery for the Brownstone lest Watson find it while he's not paying attention.

So he sets up his new mission carefully setting up the ducks as if they're crawling out of the drain itself. He barely even used a third of the ducks in the box so of course he already begins planning his next attack in case Watson doesn't bring up the ducks yet again. Sure enough not even a peep from her even though when he returns they're visibly moved after her shower.

Fine if she wants to play that way.

It takes 3 hours but he expands his mission having them crawl from the drain, up the side of the tub, out over the side, to the other side of the bathroom in rows of 10 until they narrow reaching a significantly larger duck wearing a crown. He's not going to admit how much money he actually spent on this display but it's oh so worth it when his phone buzzes late one night.

 _We need to talk about the ducks -JW_

 _Ducks? -SH_

 _Don't play coy with me. I couldn't this shower morning because I had to move over 100 of those stupid ducks. -JW_

 _Srry. No more tiny ducks. Prmse. -SH_

Honestly she should've caught onto the loophole right then and there but shockingly she didn't. Only an hour later Gregson calls with reports of a triple homicide. He takes a separate cab excusing to Watson that he had to meet with Alfredo really quick and he'd meet her at the scene of the crime in about an hour. Rather he makes a quick trip to the local bath store and purchase 5 ducks about the size of a laptop. He positions them and he's off to the crime scene.

 _You said no more ducks. -JW_

 _I said no more tiny ducks. -SH_

 _I'm meeting my mom for dinner tonight. When I get back I want all of the ducks gone. I don't care how. It happens or I make your life hell -JW_

His disappointment at the end of their game is met with a tiny bit of thrill at her threat. He still wants to see how far he could push her. He wants to get that oh so pleasant shout. _Cn I kp 1? -SH_

 _One. -JW_

 _:) -SH_

It takes him 2 hours and an air pump but the trap is set long before Watson walks in the door. The large inflatable duck takes up ⅔ of the bathroom and is positioned facing the door. He tries not to bounce with excitement as soon as she announces her presence with a sigh and the loud shut of the door.

"I'm going to take a shower." She says, exhaustion evident in her tone. He nods not turning to face her lest he gives away the surprise.

He begins counting the seconds until finally,

"Sherlock!" Her voice calls in frustration. He bounds up the stairs two at a time, a giant smile plastered across his lips. She's standing in the doorway of the bathroom, eyes flashing with fury. He's hit suddenly by how nice she looks. Her makeup is done carefully, hair draped over her shoulders in loose perfect curls, black dress hugging tightly to her figure without being suggestive. She marches over to him and he notices how much shorter she is without her heels on. She barely comes up to his shoulder. "Do you think this is funny?" She seethes, yet beneath the anger he swears he sees a bit of a spark in her eyes, a challenge.

"Quackers." He answers with a smirk.

"I warned you."

"No you said I may have one."

"I didn't mean one that takes up half of the bathroom!" She steps forwards moving to push him back but he catches her wrists.

"You should've been more specific. I thought you would've learned after the tiny ducks." Her chest swells with an angry breath. He's suddenly aware of how close she'd advanced in her attempts to push him and the fact that he's still holding her. He drops her wrists quickly but it's too late. Memories of that night sweep over him once more. How he'd held her wrists above her head, how he'd pressed her against the wall lips buried in her throat, the way her nails scraped down his bare back.

She moves away quickly back into the bathroom, snatching a pair of scissors from the sink. With a quick slash the duck is torn and is quickly deflating. "Take your duck so I can shower." It isn't a request, rather a command. He obeys taking the limp yellow body and dragging it into the hall. The bathroom door slams in his face and he sends a quick text.

 _Need 2 tlk nw. Emrgncy._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Alfredo arrives at the Brownstone much faster than Sherlock anticipated, knocking frantically on the door. He yanks it open, his former guide's eyes tracing over his form. "Did you relapse." His voice is harsh and demanding.

"What? No." Sherlock says defensively.

"Did you almost relapse? You don't have anything here do you? You know Joan would kill you."

"Slow down. It has nothing to do with relapse at all." He visibly settles.

"What's the emergency then?"

He goes quiet listening for the sounds of the shower. He continues once he's sure he can hear the water hitting the tub. "I think I may be attracted to Watson." He says quickly.

"You're kidding me." Alfredo scoffs throwing his head back. "I abandoned a client and broke 3 different laws on the road because you think you are attracted to your partner."

"I'm beginning to think you're not seeing how much of a problem this is."

"You're right. I don't." He sighs taking a seat on the couch. He pats the spot beside him inviting Sherlock to sit down. With a roll of his eyes he plops down beside him. "Joan is an attractive woman. Why is this a problem?"

"Because this isn't the first time." He mutters under his breath.

"We are not having this talk at 11:30 at night." Alfredo groans rubbing his hands over his face.

"If you're not going to be any help"

"I am going to help but I need you to stop with this cryptic shit." He sits up now, "When did this start."

"If I tell you it doesn't leave this room. Not even Watson knows." He waits until Alfredo nods before continuing. "18 years ago my father took me with him on a business trip to America. I went to a bar while he was at the meeting to have a few drinks. I met this woman, went home with her and we-"

"Please skip the details. I can assume." Alfredo interrupts putting up his hand.

"Well I told her that my name was Sean. No use in giving my name if we were only going to meet once."

"What's the point of this side story."

"The woman was Watson."

"You slept with Joan." Alfredo repeats in shock. Their bubble is broken by the shattering of glass behind them. He spins around and sure enough Watson is there clad in pajamas and her favorite red cardigan. A shattered tea cup lies abandoned at her feet. The water he heard running… It must've been the sink. How much of the conversation had she heard?

"You're Sean." She whispers in disbelief.

"Shit." Alfredo mutters.

"Watson." He's on his feet approaching her quickly. Her eyes are shining with a new kind of anger, one that reflects disappointment… betrayal.

"Don't." She stops him backing away. "You knew. You knew and you didn't even bother to tell me." She scoffs.

"Watson." Another step forwards and another backwards.

"How long did you know."

"I-"

"How long!" She demands swiping furiously at a spare tear that escaped.

"Since we met." He whispers in admission. An angry laugh mixed with a sob leaves her lips. She looks away so that he can't see the tears of humiliation escaping. He steps towards her again taking her arms gently. "I'm sorry. I thought if I told you, you'd leave."

"Well I found out. What now Sherlock?" She asks bitterly snatching herself from his grip. She hardens herself setting her jaw. "I'm staying at Marcus' tonight."

"Watson you don't have to-"

"Don't tell me what to do." She snaps. "You don't get to tell me what to do right now. Got it?" With that she leaves up the stairs to get dressed and packed for the night. Alfredo lingers for only moments before dismissing himself with a quiet apology. She doesn't say a word as she storms out the door but he can see the angry tears streaming down her cheeks.

The Brownstone aches with silence in her absence.


	6. Chapter 6

**Heyyyyy guys. Long time no see. Wow do I have an explanation for you. Okay for starters I got into other fandoms and kinda fell into the hiatus trap. For those of you who don't know what the hiatus trap is, it's during the hiatus of a show you've fallen out of rhythm with how the characters act. Every time I tried to write this chapter Joan was incredibly out of character (in my opinion she still is in this one but details). I wrote, deleted and rewrote this chapter about 6 times since the last chapter. The first two paragraphs are the only things that lasted.**

 **But, recently I rewatched Marry Me and it reignited my love for Lucy Liu. Cue me laughing maniacally while scrolling through the Joan Watson tag basically 68% of the day yesterday. Finally I sat down and punched out this chapter.**

 **But seriously thank you guys for all of your support in this time. Nearly every day I'm still getting new kudos for this story and that's crazy because it's one of my only fics still getting attention even though the last time I published was October 25th. OCTOBER! You guys are crazy and in the end that's what brought me back to the story. Thank you so much.**

Joan knocks softly on the door three times. She bites her tongue tapping her foot on the wooden floor. She'd only shot Marcus the quick question, _Can I stay the night?_ She couldn't be home right now nor could she handle the nagging questions of Emily or her mother. She shuts her eyes tightly, the pounding already echoing from her angry tears. She'd stopped crying a while ago but it didn't send the flush of her cheeks away.

"Hey." She jumps slightly as in her bought of self loathing she hadn't heard Marcus open the door. "Let me." He gently takes her hand clutching the overnight bag. She lets him as he guides her into his home. She is barely dressed having just thrown on a pair of leggings and tying up her hair messily. Her red cardigan is still wrapped around her shoulders like her own personal armor. She kicks off her tennis shoes next to the door like she's done probably a hundred times before and follows him into the kitchen.

"I'm really sorry for intruding. It's just-"

"Sherlock did something stupid and you needed to get away for awhile." He smiles at her sadly giving her a curt nod. "Yeah, he called."

"Did he-"

"No he didn't tell me what happened. Said you could explain if you were ready to. Must've been pretty bad though." He digs into the freezer pulling out a carton of ice cream. She gives him a skeptical look with a small frown. "You're sad and dinner won't be ready for another hour. From my experience chocolate makes things better." He passes her a spoon and a bowl walking back to the stove where he has something sizzling in a frying pan.

"He messed up. Badly."

"I gathered that much." He says with a soft laugh in his tone.

"I can't believe he didn't tell me." She scoffs. She shuts her eyes tightly trying to will away another wave of tears. She's not doing this again. She refuses to. She's not going to cry over this any more. "He knew since he met me."

"What a pig." Marcus teases. Guilt washes over her yet again as she realizes he truly has no idea what she's talking about yet here he is trying to do his best to comfort her.

"Sherlock and I slept together 18 years ago. We were both drunk and in college and had a one night stand. He not only remembered but has known since we first met." Marcus stares at her with a dumbfounded look.

"I didn't think it was that bad. Do I need to get the double fudge?" She smiles despite the anger still boiling in her chest.

"No thanks."

"What are you going to do?" God she hadn't even thought that far ahead. She just needed to get out of there for tonight. She's going to have to go back and talk to him about it tomorrow.

"What I have to." She shrugs taking a spoonful of the ice cream. "We can't let this interfere with our partnership. We have too much work to do."

"Hey," Marcus steps away from the stove temporarily coming to stand across from her at the island. "We can get the work done just fine without the two of you. Take care of yourself Joan."

"I will." She sighs pressing the palms of her hands into her eyes. Why did this have to happen now? Things have gotten so complicated.

"Good. Hope you're hungry because my paella is legendary."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It isn't until about 2 the next day that Watson returns to the Brownstone. Sherlock had been trying to keep himself busy all day given the anxiety of their next meeting racing through his veins but it seemed fruitless. Marcus had asked Gregson to give the two of them the day off to "sort out their issues". Honestly this has all gotten blown so wildly out of proportion that Sherlock's not quite sure how they can fit it all back to the way it was before.

Maybe it won't go back.

The thought sends his heart plummeting to his stomach. After all they've been through for one night of drunken passion to ruin their entire relationship feels rather anticlimactic. Here he was hoping for a rather dramatic duel between his mortal enemy where they tumble off a waterfall.

She wanders the place for the first hour, likely trying to busy herself enough in order to gather her thoughts. The only sound in the otherwise empty home is Clyde munching quietly on his lettuce. He wonders who would get custody were they to separate. Joint custody could work but he's not sure he could-

"Why?" Watson's broken voice sends a chill rushing down his spine as it interrupts his thought process. She hovers in the doorway a look of confusion and hurt marring her features. He never wanted to do this. Not to hurt her. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Originally I figured you didn't remember. Not consciously at least." He sighs. "That was when I tried to drive you away from being my sober companion."

"Yes I remember." She deadpans biting the inside of her cheek. Her arms are crossed in front of her chest defensively. She's holding back.

"Then we grew closer. I didn't want to ruin our friendship."

"And where do we stand now?" A long silence fills the room and it seems even Clyde has paused to listen for his answer. His heart hammers in his chest, this is truly the question he didn't want to face.

"I don't know." He answers honestly. She turns her head away shutting her eyes tightly as she nods. That was the answer she suspected, he surmises. An unquestionable future. A tear in the fabric of time. Something unsurmountable. He didn't have an answer.

"You-" She bites her lip with a heaving breath trying to gather her words again. There were very few times that he'd seen her so angry that she stumbled over her own speech. "You knew since we met. That's what hurts the most."

"Watson-"

"No. It's my turn to speak." His jaw snaps shut and he only nods in agreement. "We have been through relapses, kidnappings, ransoms and your ex turned nemesis but you couldn't tell me this. You didn't trust to tell me this." He goes to correct her but the glare is enough to silence him. "Fine say you did trust me. But you sure as hell didn't trust us to be able to work through this together." Tears brim her eyes as she desperately tries to blink them away. "I held you through withdraws and you helped me through anxiety attacks. You really thought that I couldn't handle the fact that we drunkenly slept together?"

"Don't."

"Don't what Sherlock?" She snaps. "Don't say how I feel? Don't speak what's on my mind? Don't do what Sherlock?"

He takes three long steps until he's right in front of her. He's not sure what possesses him but he takes her shoulders in his hands. This time it's her turn to snap her mouth shut. "Don't leave." He pleads in a quiet voice.

"Sherlock." She whispers. Emotion betrays her cracking the ends of his name and shattering his heart.

"I didn't trust myself. Not you." She inhales sharply tears gathering in her eyes. "Three years ago you asked me how I do what we do and still face humanity. Quite simply, the answer is you Watson." Her throat contracts as she swallows heavily. The only thing giving away her emotions is the slight twitch of her jaw as she clenches it shut. "You find joy in the simplest of things. You keep treats in your pocket now since you pass Kujo on your jog every morning. If it's cool enough for you to wear a sweater you consider your day to be made." He sighs dropping his hands. "You remind me of everything good Watson."

She surprises him this time when she takes the lapel of his coat dragging her to him. Her lips are softer than her remembers as they slant against his. Tension seizes his body as hers fits into his. Shaking fingers press against her hips pulling her closer still. His hands pan up her back as her own relax against his chest. One hand comes up to wrap into her hair as he kisses her back.

The shrill shriek of his cell phone in his pocket pull them away from each other as though caught doing something forbidden. His fingers untangle from her hair and his slide down his chest until they fall between them. They'd crossed the line that they vowed not to long ago.

Suddenly in just the few seconds that seemed far too short everything had changed.


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello again. Sorry this update took so long. Not gonna lie but a lot of things managed to get in the way. I've wanted to update for a while but writer's block on top of just a hellish semester of school kept me from my computer for a long ass time. This chapter actually just started out as a little ficlet that I sent to my friend (SO to Em!) Hope you enjoy the chapter**

Joan Watson has to have the best luck in the world.

Zip ties cut into her wrists as her eyes follow the man pacing in front of the group of them. She narrows her eyes trying to formulate a plan and reflect on how she managed to get in this situation in the first place.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The silence cuts unbearably through the Brownstone. They hadn't spoken about the kiss since that night and to be quite honest it was making Joan incredibly restless. Her stomach churns as the sound of shuffling files echoes through the room. The soft noise seemed much too loud in the quiet.

They've been at this cold case for hours and have gotten nowhere. To be fair she's not focused at all and judging from the fact that Sherlock has been flipping between the same two pages for the past twenty minutes, he's not either. Another five minutes pass in quiet before she pushes herself off the couch with a huff.

"If you're going to the kitchen could you fetch my smoothie out of the fridge?" He calls after her.

"Do I want to know what's inside the smoothie?" A sigh leaves her lips. How can he just pretend everything is the same? It's so incredibly frustrating.

"Avocado, blueberries, egg yolk, and celery. Would you like one?"

"I'll pass." Her lip curls slightly but it's far from the least odd thing he's had in their refrigerator. "I'm actually going to the bank."

"The bank? But our work-"

"Is going nowhere." She finishes for him shrugging on her jacket. "I'll be gone for thirty minutes tops and the files aren't going anywhere."

"Very well I'll come with you then." He stands brushing off his pants.

"Sherlock…"

"You want to go alone." He nods pressing his lips together in a tight line. "Very well. I must tend to Clyde anyways. It's almost lunch time." She parts her lips to apologize but just leaves instead. She was foolish to cross the line between their friendship. He was distant again yet clingy at the same time. He wanted to be close to her but never said anything. She shuts her eyes in shame as she climbs into the cab.

They are adults why the hell can't they figure this out? The time passes much quicker as she's gone. They're pulling into the bank before she even realizes it. She pays the driver and climbs out stepping into the rather busy establishment. She gets into line and is searching her purse for her earbuds when the door slams open.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The four heavily armed men in masks had stormed into the building forcing them to their knees. They gathered the group of people into a corner, collecting all of the purses and items from their pockets into a large bag before finally tying all of their wrists behind their backs with zip ties. Two of them slip into the back, likely to collect the money, one keeps a lookout on the outside, and the last one is the one pacing before the rest of them.

Already twenty minutes had passed and she knows at the thirty minute mark Sherlock will begin blowing up her phone. She needs to formulate a plan and she needs to do it now. The pacing man halts his pace suddenly crouching in front of a woman trying desperately to hush her screeching baby. She takes the moment of distraction to lean closer and speak in a quiet voice.

"My name is Joan Watson. I'm a consultant with the NYPD and I need your help." Her eyes remain trained on the ground so not to raise suspicion from the man looking out the window not far from them. The screeching should be enough to cover her voice but she needs to be sure.

"We all need help lady."

She clenches her teeth letting out a slow breath. "I can get us out of here. But I need your help getting out of my restraints." When he doesn't have a clever retort she continues. "I'm going to tie your shoelaces together and I need you to kick fast enough to cause friction to break the ties."

"What if they catch us?"

"My partner is going to cause a distraction in 7 minutes. I'll tap on your shoe and you start kicking." Sure enough right on the thirty minute mark Sherlock begins calling. Her cell phone cuts through the murmuring as people wait with baited breath for someone to claim the phone. As the murmurs build she works quickly to slip his shoelace through her binds and tie it behind her. On the third call the man marches angrily over to the bags to find the source of the ringing.

She taps his shoe and the man begins kicking. She holds her breath until the bonds break giving her wrists sweet relief. She resists the urge to rub her aching skin but remains still instead.

Finally the man finds the cell phone holding it in the air, the barking voice causing the mumbles to quiet. "Who's is this?"

"Mine." She calls out. She feels the eyes of the crowd on her. If any of them had heard or seen her escape from her confines, none of them spoke up. "It's my fiance. He's a detective. He won't stop until I answer."

"A detective." The man scoffs.

"Sherlock Holmes is the name on the phone right?" She asks, his eyes give away just as she suspected. "Look up his name. He's a consultant for the 11th precinct. Look him up." She raises her eyebrow in almost a challenge. She has the attention of both men now. The closer one nods to his friend and he sets to work looking up the name.

A look exchanged and the man sighs. "God damn it." He curses gripping her harshly by the upper arm. He drags her to her feet pushing her towards another room. He shuts the door behind him throwing her roughly onto the floor. "Answer him. If you say a damn thing I will kill you."

"Noted." She deadpans. He pushes her until she's up against the desk that sits closest to the window. He sets the phone on top of the desk answering the next call when it chirps through. The man goes to the window to look outside to take on as the look out.

"Hey babe." She interrupts his rant before it can even begin. She needs to catch him off guard because surely he'll blow her cover if not. He doesn't respond for a few excruciating seconds.

" _You weren't answering my calls."_ His voice isn't accusatory or angry. Rather it was sad, almost dejected. Shame washes over her once again. After all this they need to talk once and for all.

"Sorry I had my phone on silent. Lines at the bank were a bit longer than I guessed." Carefully she reaches up snatching a large book off the desk. "Do you want me to pick up lunch on my way home."

" _Indian?"_ She can almost hear the smirk in his voice. It's their secret communication to signal that the other understands. He's going to get help.

"You got it. I love you."

Silence fills the room for a few beats. " _I love you too Joan."_ She moves before the man can turn around again. She throws the book at the back of his head causing him to fall and drop his gun in the process. She kicks the gun away before rushing back to the phone.

"Bank robbery, four assailants heavily armed, and they have hostages."

" _How many?"_

"Twenty-three, myself included." She lets out a long sigh brushing her hair aside. "They're keeping eyes on the front but there's a back entrance. One is in front with the other hostages, two in the safe, and-" A prick in her neck stops her mid-sentence. Her hand flies to the source feeling the syringe much too late.

Her body slumps against the man who settles her back against the desk. Her vision swims before her as the man smashes the phone into the ground. Her head feels way too heavy and her body pitches to the side as darkness washes over her.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sherlock curses under his breath for the sixth time since leaving the Brownstone. He watches as the robbers are lead out of the building in handcuffs first, followed by the hostages with their hands in the air. He searches for her distinguishing features; dark hair, sharp cheekbones, freckled face, dark alluring eyes. Yet Watson was nowhere in sight.

He bounces with uncomfortable energy until Marcus nods at him to go ahead. An older gentleman, however, catches him by the arm before he can move any further.

"You're Sherlock Holmes?" The man asks.

"How do you-"

"Your girl saved us. They took her to another room but she didn't come out." Sherlock's heart sinks to his stomach. The man is searching for reassurance but he can't give any. He has to find her. Now.

"Thank you." He tugs his arm away just short of running into the building. He checks three different rooms before her finally finds her. She's laying on her side and she's not moving, dark hair draped over her face.

A broken noise leaves his throat before he scampers over to her. She has to be alive. She has to be. He turns her on her back pressing his fingers to her throat. He almost sobs in relief as he feels her pulse strong and insistent against his fingertips. He spies the syringe lying abandoned on the ground and pockets it before slipping his arms underneath her legs. He lifts her with ease mentally remarking how light she is. She stirs slightly in his arms, lethargic limbs pushing against his chest trying to free herself.

"Watson it's me. It's okay. I've got you." He whispers into her hair. She slips back into unconsciousness, head falling against his chest. Still the ache in his chest doesn't fade. He should've put up a fight. He should've gone with her. He should've said something.

"What happened?" Marcus asks running up to him. A darkness settles over his face, the younger detective is as protective as he is over Watson. He can already see his mind running for every solution.

"Likely a sedative injected when we were on the phone together but the paramedics should check. I pocketed the syringe used." Marcus only nods escorting him back to the ambulance that waited just off the side.

He'd come so close to losing her. He's almost lost her too many times before.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The first thing Watson notices as she comes too is the too bright light spilling through the curtains. Blankets weigh heavily on her frame as she stirs calling the attention of the man sitting by her bedside.

"Watson?" He seems relieved as she meets his eyes, settling back into his chair. "Good you're finally awake."

"What?" Her voice croaks harshly from disuse. Sherlock scrambles to retrieve the water from her bedside table carefully handing it to her. She takes slow sips nodding in thanks. Yet he doesn't settle this time, rather his body is drawn tight rigidly sitting on the edge of his seat.

He bows his head before explaining, "Shortly into our conversation one of the assailants, I'm assuming the one you temporarily knocked unconscious, injected you with a sedative. We caught all four of them by amplifying the dye packs on the money to create a miniature explosion that knocked them out long enough to be apprehended. Everyone is safe. You did good Watson." She sinks back into her pillows allowing the compliment to wash over her. She can't help the small smile that tugs at her lips.

"Thank you." That's not all though. She can tell he's not saying something from the way his knee is bouncing. His neck is bowed as if trying to hold in words. She reaches out touching his knee lightly. "Sherlock?"

"It's nothing Watson." She raises a questioning eyebrow scooting to the side. She pats the now vacant spot beside her offering him the spot. He looks between her and the empty space as if that in itself is crossing a boundary. Finally he gives into her stare moving to be by her side. As her mind adjusts to now being awake she spies even more cues that she'd previously missed. Dark circles lie beneath his eyes and his fingers twitch as they twine around themselves. She places her hand on his forearm halting the movement.

"Talk to me." She pleads. His eyes meet hers nearly knocking the breath from her lungs at the vulnerability that lie behind them.

"When you weren't answering I thought…" He breaks the gaze shaking his head. "It was a ridiculous thought."

"You thought I left." The sucking breath that heaves his chest signifies that she was dead on. "You're right." He sighs heavily shutting his eyes. "It was a ridiculous thought. You've got to try harder if you want to get rid of me." She teases bumping her shoulder against his. When he looks at her again it wipes the smile right off her face. The vulnerability is still there, still lingering beneath the sad eyes.

"I'm sorry." He mumbles like a child who'd broken a vase. She wraps her arms around him tightly drawing him in a hug. She clutches the back of his t-shirt burying her face into his neck. Long arms clutch her back but much more gentle, as if she'd vanish if he dared to hold her too harshly.

"I'm here." She mumbles into the skin of his neck lips brushing against the flesh. "I'm here."

He pulls back first but not far, his hands slide from her back to her hips lingering there for a few seconds. Her eyes search his as she tries to read his expression once more. What terrifies her is she can't read his expression. He's holding back from her. She waits for a beat before breaking the distance between them.

Her lips brush against his twice before she pulls back. She crossed the line again. Her hand settles on his face guiding him back to her again. This time he kisses her back sending shocks through her every nerve. His grip tightens on her hips as she deepens the kiss. His grip pulls suddenly as she settles her thighs across his lap.

Now straddling him Watson takes advantage of the position nipping at his lower lip. They disconnect for only a moment, chests heaving to catch lost breath. His eyes are dark now as his fingers wander down her thighs. Memories flash before her eyes momentarily and all she can think about is stealing them back from him. Her lips attack his once more drawing a long whine from his throat. Her hands card through his short hair before wandering down his shirt tugging at the tee trying to force it upwards.

"Watson." His strained voice in between kisses brings a smile to her lips. So she is affecting him as much as he is her. That's comforting. His hands catch hers stilling them between between their bodies. "Watson stop." She pulls back confusion etching into her features. "I'm sorry."

Humiliation and frustration fills her body as she tries to understand. "Sherlock I-"

"Wait." He drops her hands as she shifts off of him. She wants to burrow herself into her blankets in shame. "You went through a trying day from being held hostage and then sedated. I just want to make sure this is what you want." She lets out a soft laugh, of course he'd care more about what she'd gone through than this. His squeezes her hand lightly staring at their joined fingers. "I'm not taking advantage of you in this state."

"Such a gentleman." She laughs lightly.

"It's part of my charm." She shoves his shoulder again playfully unable to help the smile from pulling at her lips. "Get some rest Watson."

He drops her hands before leaving the room. The warmth he left behind lingers long after she manages to fall back asleep.


	8. Chapter 8

**I'm so sorry for the long ass wait on the update. Truth be told this has actually been finished in my drafts for a long time now but I was never satisfied with it so it just kinda sat there. Finally I got back to it and tweaked what I didn't like. Actually this entire chapter ended up nearly cut in half cause I felt my writing was sloppy. But I'm glad I did cause I'm so much more satisfied with this version.**

Sherlock shuts the door quickly behind him as a realization strikes him. Of course he's suspected something was up. Odd behaviors have plagued Watson for the past 48 hours. He's more or less pushed them aside for more pressing matters, but the actions teased the back of his mind. She's gotten bolder than her first days in the Brownstone, he must note. Though sitting in the quiet of the living room he knows one thing almost for sure. Joan Watson is trying to seduce him.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Yesterday_

The first incident comes with surprise but not necessarily with anything noteworthy. They are dealing with a case regarding a series of stalking reports from a local printing company that turned into a rather gruesome murder of the alleged stalker. Watson parts from the group only momentarily to pick up a coffee order set by Marcus. When she returns she distributes them to Bell and himself. However, upon handing him his cup her fingers brush his sending sparks up his arm.

With anyone else he would completely disregard the action. Yet, Watson was a surgeon. He's never known her movements to be anything but deliberate. Even under high stress scenarios her fingers don't do so much as twitch. The contact lasts barely a second but the feeling burns his skin. His eyes search hers but they're guarded as always. No hints of the touch happening even register to her much less anyone else in the room. Sherlock, though, feels as though his world has tilted.

The rest of the meeting continues uninterrupted. They settle on questioning one of the employees that the stalker seemed particularly fond of. When they sit next to each other in the back of one of the police vans he feels the heat of her arm burning through his suit sleeve. He tries to blame the proximity on the equipment in the seat beside her. Yes, that must be the reason. As for their fingers brushing she hadn't gotten much sleep last night due to prep for the questionings. Surely it was just a miscalculation.

Again Watson appears unphased by the close contact. Her head is bowed, eyes trained on the words on her cell phone. He closes his eyes dulling out the chatter to regroup himself again. His mind drifts yet again at the actions of a mere few days ago. He parted from her to let her rest after a rather electrifying make out session in her bed.

Unlike the previous kiss it wasn't as if they were avoiding talking about it. Rather, the rest of the world seemed to be dead set on keeping them busy or parted from each other. Each time he mustered the courage to mention it or the tension lit the room ablaze, something would interrupt. Chimes from computers, ringing cell phones, pounding knocks on doors, even a kettle whistling had broken a moment.

Thankfully, however, things seem to have drifted back to normal between the two of them. Other than outrageous sexual tensions, their behaviors have continued as normal. No longer do either of them feel the need to avoid one another again. Conversations flow easily rather than being chopped and awkward. He's more than thankful for that. His worries had been that approaching this kind of intimacy would change things between them. In some ways it has, but shockingly, not much at all.

He and Watson are not made for grand romantic gestures. They're not for confessions of love, rose petals on bed sheets, or any other ridiculous excursions shown by movies that Watson is so fond of. Even in traditional relationships neither of them held for long. His last was Fiona and, as far as he knows, Andrew was hers. Watson, however, was different. While he still loathes the grand gestures, doing simple kind things no longer feel so ridiculous. Seeing her smile is almost as gratifying as rousing a scream of his name laced with frustration. Before he can wander deeper into other possible ways she can call his name, the car comes to a sudden halt in front of their first suspects home.

He climbs out first and he's not sure what provokes him to do it, but as Watson climbs out he offers a hand to help her. Later he'll blame the uneven terrain and Watson's ridiculously tall heels. He simply didn't want her to fall. Regardless she takes his hand with a smile, something darker sparkling in her eyes only for a second before she pushes herself out with her other hand. Her fingers weigh in his hand for a few seconds longer than necessary. When they finally part he can focus once more on the task ahead.

He pretends he doesn't notice when Watson not-so-accidentally brushes against him six more times in the home and twice more again in the car. He can't otherwise his brain would wander and he needs all the brainpower necessary for their cases.

Right, business as usual then.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Today_

The second act was certainly much more purposeful on both their behalves. He's holes himself up in the latrine for much longer than necessary, but to be fair he's only doing it now to get back at her for yesterday. While they were seemingly innocent enough events, deep down he knows they were on purpose. He simply needs more evidence to prove it and decide what to do going forth. For now he settles on a simply frustrating act to rouse her annoyance enough to get that scream from her. He hasn't gotten such an encounter since the duck incident and, quite frankly, that was a little disappointing. That and rubber ducks are now banned from the Brownstone.

So he decides to wait twenty minutes before Watson's usual time she showers before ducking into the small room. He showers first, being sure to take up more time than he needed. He estimates about twenty five minutes before he steps out. He then takes his time to shave carefully as, admittedly, he has gotten rather scruffy after the past few cases.

The first knock come at about thirty minutes. "Sherlock hurry up!" She calls from the other side of the door. He's not even got a quarter of his face finished yet. He's lingering much more than usual but there's been no call from Gregson and their next round of questioning isn't for a few more hours. She doesn't even make it ten minutes before she knocks again. "What's taking so long? I swear if you're doing an experiment in our only bathroom."

"I'm not." He calls back. No, he learned his lesson after the first. It was one of few instances where he pushed Watson too far. She unofficially moved out of the Brownstone for three days while staying at Emily's house until the rancid smell of the bathroom explosion went away. However, not even Ms. Hudson could get the stain off that wall.

"You have ten minutes or I'm coming in. Finished or not." He scoffs at the threat. Electrifying encounter or not Watson is, for the lack of a better word, a prude. When it comes to cases she's fine, she may detach herself. He, especially, is more than knowledgeable of her prudishness. She still reacts the same when he catches her in a less than decent state. She's stopped sleeping in her underwear by now at the least.

Ten minutes roll by, then fifteen. He smirks at the fact that still Watson had not come. He wonders where she is now, boiling with unreleased rage. Perhaps she's taking out her frustration on Bob, no, he'd hear the thumps even from upstairs. He was rather shocked when the bathroom door swung open to an unamused Watson.

"I warned you." She says nonchalantly before slipping behind him. Her lack of contact, even in the small space, only furthers his point from yesterday. Deft fingers undo the tight ponytail before setting the holder in front of him on the sink. She turns her back to him, shocking him once again when her suit jacket falls to the ground with a dull thud. She shrugs off the blouse next following with her dress pants. He focuses his gaze further but he can't help but look from the corner of his eye when she shrugs off her undershirt as well.

Now only in her bra and panties Sherlock feels heat rush to his face now. He's holding his breath to keep from breaking the moment. She steps daintily into the tub closing the curtain behind her cutting off his sight of her. Her fingers only appear for brief more moments to chuck her bra and panties over the railing. The former land mere centimeters from his foot teasing him just as the woman in the shower had.

He escapes the room before he can do something ridiculous like climbing in after her. He makes it to his bedroom where he shuts the door behind him where the realization dawns on him. Joan Watson is trying to seduce him, his mind repeats. Her nasty little game had begun with the teasing touches and he'd played right into her hand when helping her out of the car. Now this scenario.

Very well, if she wants to play. Then the game's afoot.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He carefully plans out his first move. He's going subtle like she did at first. Just enough to hint to Watson that something is off. That's why he chooses to haul out the pull up bar again. He remembers one occasion where he chose to hang from it upside down to get the blood flowing more efficiently to his brain. Now, however, he planned on using it simply for sit ups.

Well not for sit ups. In her time living in the Brownstone Watson has never seen him repeat one of his actions. In some scenarios he liked to keep her on her toes and in others it pertained to one of the many cases they embarked on over the years. Breaking this out again though, would be the first instance of repetition. He hopes he's trained Watson well enough to recognize the abnormality.

He shrugs off his shirt so that it doesn't slip over his face during the activity. Also partial revenge for yesterday's stint. He hoists himself up testing his grip and the stability of the bars. The last thing he needs is for the damn thing to collapse on him mid-movement. That wouldn't do at all would it? He waits for Watson's telltale footsteps from her bedroom before hanging himself upside down and getting to work.

He's already fifteen sit ups in before she finally comes trudging him down the stairs. She stops midway into the living room when she spots him. Even from his position he sees her raise a perfectly arched brow in silent confusion. She's clad in an oversized sweatshirt with worn out lettering, likely from her old college. Her empty mug and glasses perched on her nose reveal that she's been up for a while, likely reading a novel that he doesn't understand why she finds the pleasure in.

"This again?" Her lips purse together in confusion, much like she always does when deciphering particularly difficult information. Yes, good. So she's noticed as he hoped.

"Not quite." He answers though his voice is somewhat strained by the flowing pressure. "Previously I only hanged upside down. Now pairing it with sit ups I believe I can get an even better blood flow." So he continues though in his movements he notices Watson hasn't budged. Her eyes remain trained on him though her mind is miles away. He swears he sees the same dark look that settled in her eyes from the night of the kiss.

It's gone in a flash as she ducks her head scuttering off to the kitchen, likely to dispose of her mug in the sink. He waits a few beats before he calls out her name.

"Watson! I require your assistance." He's just about to call her name again when she reappears. He wonders if she had to take a few seconds to gather herself.

"What?" She's trying to sound annoyed, he knows. To the tone deaf ear one wouldn't know the difference. However, he spent a long time growing accustomed to Watson's annoyed tone. This was just off the normal.

"I'm afraid I've gotten a bit light headed. Will you assist me in getting down." The huff she lets out is a real on as she steps over to him. She holds out her hands waiting on him to make the first move. As he reaches for the bar once again, soft hands settle on the skin of his back. She's not pushing or holding, simply guiding. Once he's sure he has grip he drops himself slowly, being sure not to kick her in his descent.

When he's settled on the ground he pitches forwards a bit, partially due to a light headed feeling. However he certainly exaggerated it for show. Her hands move to his chest to steady him before that same dark look settles over her face again. He can't help but smirk now.

Epiphany strikes over her features before blending away to shame. She'd fallen right into his trap. She drops her hands escaping back upstairs to gather herself.

Her move.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

To her credit, Watson's resolve is quite incredible. Though he might have caught her off guard yesterday she showed no signs of breaking. Even keeping a watchful eye on her he's not sure what her next move is. Did he throw her off and she has to re-plan everything now? The thought makes him partially giddy as they saunter into a briefing early in the morning.

He pulls out a chair for Watson first not missing the slight narrowing of her eyes. She's deducing just the same as he is, good. She takes his offer nonetheless settling in the seat. He places himself in the one beside her waiting for Gregson to begin.

He expects Watson to ambush him after the meeting, or perhaps even wait until they retreat with the case files back to the safety of their home. What he doesn't expect is the hand settling on his leg midway through the meeting. He nearly jumps out of his skin at first contact. He looks down at his leg first to confirm that it is, in fact, a hand and not his wild imagination.

Manicured fingers stroke up and down his thigh absentmindedly. His eyes cast to the owner of the hand. Watson simply stares forwards seemingly unaware of what was going on under the table. However, it is the sparkle in her eyes that gives her away. Exhilaration disguised as fascination for the case settles behind the dark depths. He focuses on his breathing, making sure it's even. If she wants to affect him she's going to have to try harder than that.

And tries, she does. Vague patterns trace along his pant leg from his knee to the top of his thigh. Her head tilts and he wonders if she's even picking up on the words they're saying. He realizes she does when she begins selecting words from their sentences and drawing them on his leg. His particular favorite was "interrogate" as she had to start at the top of his leg to finish the large cursive.

He holds his breath as she becomes more bold. Her fingers venture closer to the desired destination. He snaps his head too her and sees the smirk on her lips. Right as her nail brushed home the detective turns back to the two of them.

"Any questions?" And with that her hand is gone, leaving him to restrain a frustrated groan from escaping his lips. That's enough satisfaction she'll need, she knows she succeeded. Her body is practically thrumming with poorly disguised pride. It says all he needs to hear when she casts him a sidelong glance, expecting him to answer.

"Nope." He draws out the short syllable nodding to Bell. "Though I would like to stay and look at the files if you please."

"No problem. Take all the time you need." When Bell is gone is when she allows the smile to break across her face.

"You know we can look at those at home." She teases.

"And you know very well why I chose to stay." She's won this one, no matter. Simply glancing at the file he's already gathered a plan for his next move.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sherlock begins his plans by making the day appear as normal as possible. He gathers her clothes for the day setting them carefully on the chair beside her bed. He positions himself beside her bed before raising his violin to play.

She startles at the sudden noise blinking up at him confused. Her hair is mussed and eyes still clouded with sleep. If he must say it's quite adorable. She rubs the exhaustion from her eyes and stretches out her limbs to wake her body as well. The movement, however, pulls down her blanket revealing that her shirt had ridden up in her slumber. It did no more than tease her midriff but it's tantalizing enough to pull his curious gaze.

"Up and at 'em Watson." He bounces on his toes to shake away the distraction. "Breakfast and coffee are downstairs. We're to meet Bell at Millennium High School in an hour to observe football practice." He draws out the last two words in a mock American accent to tease the sport for it's blatant misuse of the word football. Though he wasn't fond of either, he wouldn't pass up the opportunity.

Before she can ask ridiculous questions like "Why" or "What time is it" he slips out of the room. Shortly after she comes down in the outfit he'd preset out for her. So far so good. Wordlessly, she reaches around him grabbing her croissant from the bag on the table as well as the coffee he purchased for her while he was out. It isn't until she settles into the seat at the table that she speaks up. "So are you going to explain why we are going to a high school football practice?"

"Our latest victim, Mila Cable, was a girlfriend of the running back for Millennium High School and he's our first suspect. The news hasn't released any information about Ms. Cable's death yet so I believe it is the perfect habitat to observe Mr. Beck." He surmises. She nods along to his explanation as she quietly eats. "American football offers a place where boys may be inherently violent without any repercussions."

He waits until she finishes the rest of her breakfast before heading out with her. She asks more questions about the case on the ride but other than tidbits of information there's actually not much to share. He needs confirmation but he's already about eliminated the possibility of this suspect being the one they're looking for.

As they step onto the field Marcus is already there watching the team run the drills. His body buzzes with the anticipation of what he plans on doing. He was beginning to grow impatient with their games but he is also determined to not be beaten. After all, he's held out much longer than this.

It doesn't take long for idle chatter to bore Watson. "We're wasting our time here."

"Why's that?" Marcus asks.

"The drills. Beck is holding back when he's up against his teammates. Even if that means losing the match and being pushed down. He doesn't want to hurt them. Mila Cable's murder was brutal. There's no way he's our killer." Sherlock beams with pride. Of course, he'd seen that as they were pulling up but still a successful deduction.

"Well done Watson." He smiles noticing how the compliment spreads a blush across her cheeks. A proud smile slips onto her lips. She's off guard so he takes his opportunity and seizes it. "Good game." With that he gives her a light slap on the arse. A small squeak escapes her lips and luckily Bell was already making his way towards the coach of the team otherwise he may have heard it as well.

A quick glance in her direction gave him all the satisfaction he needed. The blush that had spread across her cheeks has intensified leaving her a bright red. Her eyes reflect the realization of something that she didn't know he knew. He only smirks at her to further settle her observation.

Watson enjoys being spanked, and he took advantage of it.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

That night at the Brownstone Sherlock reflects as he finds no leads in the case. Open files lay abandoned in front of him as his mind wanders elsewhere. The small squeak that had slipped her lips haunts his mind. In the six years he's known her he's never heard her make that sound before. Even when she accidentally slips or her too high heels betray her momentarily and she almost falls. Never had he heard her make that sound.

God does he want to do it again. Preferably naked above, beneath, or next to him. He wants to feel her heavy breathing against his skin, to feel her body writhe under him, to hear her moan his name once again. It's been far too long. He can't wait any longer.

"What if she were cheating on Beck?" He very nearly startles as her voice suddenly comes from next to the staircase. He hadn't even heard Watson come down the stairs. He'd been far too caught up in his thoughts. If he didn't know better he would've thought he'd accidentally called her name in his reverie.

"We've seen no signs of possible infidelity." Sherlock denies shaking his head.

"But what if we had?" She holds up a folder making her way around the couch in front of him. She doesn't seem to have noticed the state he was in therefore he's safe for now. "The coroner's report remarked bruises on her hip bones but they said they were faded. They didn't happen at the time of death so it's not from struggle."

"It's likely that she had a moment of passion with her boyfriend Beck."

"That's what I thought too but the handprints are smaller." She shuffles for a second before turning to him. "May I?"

"By all means." He nods. However, he couldn't have imagined what he'd just invited her to do. One long smooth leg swings over his hip as she settles into his lap, straddling his waist. Small hands take his in her grip settling them on her hips in demonstration.

"If Beck were the one to leave the marks, the marks would be bigger." Her fingers linger on his as she explains but he can't bring himself to focus. Not when she's so tantalizingly close. Not when he can feel the heat of her waist through the fabric of her shirt. The smell of her perfume surrounds him threatening to consume him whole. That's when he sees it, the dark flash in her eyes. She could've explained her point just fine without the demonstration. She's playing their game again. "Is everything alright?"

His lips surge forwards attacking her neck with vigor. He simply can't hold it in any longer. Not when she's on top of him, submerging him. Again that small squeak escapes her lips and he no longer wants to play their game any more. His teeth scrape down the side of her neck as his hands pull her closer. Hers leave their spot to grip his stubbled cheeks pulling his lips to hers.

He kisses her passionately as he presses against her. She hums against the kiss as her fingers slide from his cheeks to the lapels of his jacket pulling him closer still. He doesn't want any more space between them. She bites lightly on his upper lip and he pulls away suddenly.

"Are you sure you want this?" He has to ask. He doesn't want to push her into something she might regret. A small smile slips on her lips as her fingers settle against his chest.

"Look at me Sherlock." He does, "What do you see?"

He takes a moment to tap into the detective part of him. The portion of his brain he can never seem to turn off. "Your pupils are dilated, cheeks flushed, respiration increased." She hums in approval before taking his hand and slipping it beneath her skirt. She guides him to her center brushing his fingers against her.

Her breath catches, "What do you feel?"

"You're wet." It takes all of his control not to leap forwards again and take her right now.

"I want this." She presses a light kiss to his lips resting her forehead against his. "I want you."

That's all the permission he needs as he switches his hold beneath her thighs lifting them both. He carries her up the stairs resuming his assault on her neck and the exposed skin next to the collar of her blouse. She wraps her arms around his neck clinging to hip tightly.

He groans as he feels her teeth nip the shell of his ear. "My room." She whispers and he follows her command. He'd follow her anywhere. She pushes his jacket off his shoulders before he even makes it through the door. He knocks it shut before pushing her back against it. He lets go of her momentarily to shake the damn thing off his arms. Her heels clatter to the floor noisily as she kicks them off behind him. Shame because a small part in the back of his mind wondered what they'd feel like pressed against his back as he goes down on her.

"Sherlock." She gasps as her nails dig into his shoulders. He claims her lips once again stealing the moan from her as his fingers work on the buttons of her blouse. She sweeps her tongue across his top lip, almost asking permission before exploring his mouth further. He pulls her into his arms again so that she can shrug the shirt off. His mouth nearly waters at her smooth skin pressed against him. He chuckles at the sight of her black lace bra.

"You knew?" He mumbles against her lips.

"I was hoping." His fingers slide up her bare stomach before cupping her breasts through the material. It's her turn to work on buttons now as she strips him of his shirt. He makes sure to undo the buttons at his wrists to prevent the awkward catching. As her fingers trace his tattoo on his hip bone he carries her to the bed setting her down gently.

Deft fingers make quick work of her bra and skirt throwing both items across the room leaving her nearly barren. She tries to reach for his belt to do the same for him but he catches her wrist stopping her. "Not yet." He murmurs kissing her fingertips. She sweet gesture causes her breath to catch in her throat, eyes locked on his. He submits firsts diving to kiss her now exposed collar bone.

He lavishes kisses across the freckled skin tracing some of the patterns with his tongue. The way she gasps makes him wonder if she remembers him making the same movements all those years ago. He slides his lips down until he crosses her breasts. He captures one dusty nipple in his mouth smoothing his tongue over it gently. He watches intently as her head tips back against the mattress. Her fingers find the shorn back of his head scraping gently at the hair.

He swirls his tongue around her peak as his fingers tweak and pinch at its twin. Her hips buck at his ministrations as a broken moan slips past her lips. A louder one escapes when his teeth nip gently at it. As his lips explore more he can't help but seize the opportunity to suck a mark onto the underside of her breast.

"Sherlock please." The whispered plea pushes him to continue his exploration. His lips trail gently down the sculpted skin of her stomach, tongue tracing over the slight line of her abs. A whimper leaves her lips as his lips reach the barrier of her stockings.

"Watson, a pillow if you please." It takes her a second to even register his request and she passes him what he needs. He settles on his knees resting on the pillow in front of the edge of the bed. "Lift up your hips will you?" Again she obliges, he peels her stockings and panties down her hips and legs before discarding of them completely.

He stops to bask in the sight in front of him. Watson lays back against the bed, chest heaving with heavy breaths drawing his eyes to her breasts once more. There's more than enough time to give them all the attention that they deserve tonight. Her head is propped against a pillow of her own, raven hair splayed out against the white. Dark eyes watch him in anticipation and her lips are swollen and red from their kisses. She's absolutely breathtaking.

One hand splays across her stomach to keep her from pushing towards him in impatience. A small whine leaves her lips that he never thought he'd associate with Watson. He finds himself wanting to find all the noises she made that night and more. He wants to help her remember what he does.

Finally his lips go to where she's begging. His tongue swipes across her cunt taking in the taste of her. He groans because she tastes just as he remembers. The sound vibrates against her forcing a moan from her throat. He wants to make her lose that carefully composed control she always seems to have. He wants to let her know that even though she won their first game it is far from over.

He finds her clit sucking the little pearl into his mouth and running his tongue over it. Her hips roll against his mouth but he keeps one hand against her stomach. His other slides against her inner thigh before brushing her folds. He takes turns with swiping his fingers and his tongue, the sensation leaving her arching her back. He looks up at her as he sinks a finger into her cunt. He flicks his tongue against her clit to the same pattern of his thrusting finger. Each time he sinks into her a little deeper than before.

"Sherlock." His name leaves her lips in a whisper. "I need more." He obeys sinking another finger inside of her. "Yes!" She calls, her head tipping back with her eyes closed. He pushes her closer and closer to the edge before catching her clit against sucking on it roughly. It's almost like something breaks as her back bows towards the ceiling. Her walls clench around him rhythmically as she screams in release.

He doesn't move though. He keeps pushing her higher extending her orgasm as long as possible. One of her hands grip his hair while the other massages her breast. The sight makes him harder as he groans against her. The sensation makes her buck one last time before settling into the mattress. He removes his fingers meeting her eyes before sucking them clean. A whimper leaves her lips as she pulls him by the hair to meet her lips. She groans at the taste of her on his lips.

"I need you." She mumbles in between kisses as her fingers fumble with his belt. He helps her push down his trousers as he climbs over her. Neither of them gives a damn about control as his hips push against hers. He's sure she's left a wet spot on the front of his boxers when manicured fingers pull them down insistently. "I need you inside of me, pushing me." Her lips travel up his jaw to nibble on the lobe of his ear. "I bet you feel so good inside of me." It's his turn to whimper as she pushes a condom against his chest. He rips it open with his teeth before rolling it on.

As he lines up with her center they both stop taking a minute to breath. His eyes don't leave hers as he pushes inside of her. They both moan synchronized at the contact. God it's everything he remembered and more. He slides even deeper burying himself to the hilt. She holds her breath, nails digging into his shoulders as she adjusts to the feeling of him inside of her. God, he's inside Watson. The thought makes his cock twitch and a whimper leave her throat.

"I was right," She sighs in his ear. "You do feel good inside me." He chuckles against her shoulder biting playfully at the skin there in admonishment. He thrusts slowly taking his time for them both get used to the new feeling. Her nails dig into his skin as she meets every thrust with one of her own. "Faster." He obeys speeding up. Her legs wrap around his waist intertwining with his lower half as she grinds against him.

"Watson." He moans against her shoulder.

"Good boy." She purrs dragging her nails down his back. He grunts at the feeling speeding up even more. He's pounding her into the mattress now their heavy breathing filling the room. He licks the sweat that beads on her collar bone before it can slide down her skin. He takes one leg hiking it up higher on his torso to change the angle. "Fuck." She gasps. More blood rushes south at the sound of the explicative escaping her lips. She so rarely cursed and the sound is like a peak at out of control Watson.

He delivers a sharp slap on her ass causing her walls to clench around him. He has to think of the case in order to keep himself from coming on the spot. She needs to let go before he does.

His hand slips between the two of them playing with her clit. The movement causes her hips to buck out of rhythm but he keeps pressing against it. The way she moves is almost like she can't decide if she wants more or if it's too much. Thank god for his practice in staving off his own release because the way Watson purrs in his ear is almost enough for him to lose it.

Her breaths get shallower the faster he pushes against her clit. He pins her so she can't escape the touch and like a damn breaking she sobs with her orgasm. She whimpers his name in her ear clutching him as tight as possible as her walls ripple around him. "Let go." She commands and he can't do much but listen as he spills himself. He nearly goes limp on top of her if it weren't for settling his forearms on either side of her head so he won't crush her.

He slides out of her taking the condom off before settling back into bed beside her. Her head rests against his shoulder as they catch their breath. The cool air of the room chills the sweat on their skin. He finds himself without words as they bask in the afterglow of sex.

"As I was saying, I think we're looking for a woman as our killer."

"Was I so terrible that you think of the case immediately?" He jests lightheartedly.

"No." She smiles. "But I can't think of anything else to say." They settle back into the quiet listening to the sounds of the night. "What is this?" The inevitable question hangs in the air for a minute. He imagined that he simply needed to get her out of his system once more at first. However that was long ago. Now he wants to try so many different things. He wants to see how long she can stave off release, if she can pick locks while he goes down on her, what other sounds he can pull from those beautiful lips.

"I don't want it to be a one time thing." His confession falls into the room and he holds his breath as he waits for the answer.

"Me neither." Her smile is brilliant even in the darkness.


	9. Chapter 9

**Wow it has really been half a year since I updated this but I am back and I intend for the next chapter (after this one) to be the last of this story. I knew I wanted to wrap it up somehow but I never knew and FINALLY I have some ideas.**

 **A big ol' thanks to Mislav for getting me back into gear and providing some ideas that I could bounce off of as well as Em for being my ever favorite sounding board and test audience when it comes to my writing.**

 **As for the case, for a large part the profile of the killers are based on the parents (or Pride) in the show Runaways. They have some allusions like jobs, how they know each other, and how they're connected but other than that they're original characters. This case will be tied up with a nice little bow in the next chapter!**

Watson wakes to the feeling of scruff brushing between her shoulder blades. She lets out a soft hum as her body tries to give back in to the pull of sleep. She didn't even feel the dip of the bed when he climbed back into bed. Soft lips press against her skin muttering her name. Another groan leaves her lips as she stirs back against her partner. A heavy arm draped across her hips pulls her closer to him.

"Joan," he says softly. Her heart pounds against her chest with the affection laced in just her name. She finds herself at a loss for words.

"Don't call me Joan," She mumbles feeling a deep chuckle rumble through his chest. "It's too weird," She turns slowly finding bright blue eyes staring at her with a softness she never knew he could possess. "Holmes."

He smiles at her teasing remark. Her heart swells as her fingers find his cheek, brushing against the corner of his smile. His eyes possess so much wonder that she wishes she could read his mind. "Morning." He whispers.

"When did you come back?" She shifts so that she can face him. He braces an arm against the bed looking down at her. His other hand slips beneath the sheet tracing her skin with such practiced care she wonders how long he'd thought of this moment.

"I only left for a minute." The words are uttered so quietly part of her wonders if she imagined them. That she imagined this moment. She'll wake alone in bed to Sherlock yelling her name rather than his lips on her body.

"Good." His forehead falls against hers and she allows herself to be swept up in the quiet moment between the two of them. His lips brush against hers and she hums at the contact.

"The Captain called, they arrested Lara Noel this morning. She confessed rather quickly to Marcus out of guilt. It looks like we won't be needed for the rest of the morning."

"Is that so?" She hums burrowing into the pillows. "Another hour of sleep sounds really nice." She opens one eye at his long whine as he lays his head against her shoulder. "No."

"Watson."

"I'm hungry."

"You just said you wanted to sleep."

"I did not." She raises her hand, arm now pinned beneath his heavy frame, stroking the fine hairs at the bottom of his neck. "I said sleep sounds nice. But then you woke me up."

"I always wake you up."

"I think we both know that this is far different than how we usually behave." That seems to change the air in the room. His eyes flash up to hers searching for answers to a million questions bouncing around his mind. She swallows heavily wishing more than ever that they were able to read each other.

"Do you want this?" Again his voice is but a whisper, but this one laced with dread. Fear of rejection hides behind his clenched jaw. A broken past has long shattered any expectations of romance for the both of them. It's too complicated to catch someone up to speed. It's too dangerous to keep them close. It was inevitable that they'd end up here, clinging to each other in the hurricane.

"Yes." The answer is without hesitation in her mind. Yet nothing with them is that simple. They both have a fair load of baggage in aspects of relationships. Names forbidden from the home because they hurt too much. "I trust you."

"Good." He pops out of bed like a spring pulling on a pair of pajama pants that weren't there last night.

"Where are you going?"

"You said you were hungry. I'm going to bring you food."

"Breakfast in bed?" She stretches smiling at the idea.

"It'd be more like brunch by this hour." He teases gently.

"Well maybe if someone hadn't kept me up all night." He opens his mouth to retaliate when her phone ringing breaks the playful moment. She flashes him and apologetic look flipping over to grab her cell off of the nightstand. "You're on speaker."

"Hey. I know you guys were trying to get today off but you're going to want to come in for this."

"I thought Lara Noel was confessing."

"It's another thing. We've got eight people in here confessing to multiple murders." She sees Sherlock's eyes light up with curiosity, she's sure her own did as well. She nods to him signaling that they need to leave immediately.

"We'll be right over."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"We need to keep this between us." He speaks up when they're nearing the precinct, their takeout nestled between the two of them. She lets out the breath she's been holding for a while. Since the call from Marcus he's been distant, part of her wanted to believe it was due to the odd case they're walking into but she knows him too well. His muscles were drawn taught, eyes flashing to her only when he thought she wasn't looking.

"I agree. It's a liability. We need remain professional." He finally seems to relax at her words his fingers brushing hers. She feels like a teenager sneaking out of her parents' house. It's ridiculous but simultaneously thrilling. He lets go as the precinct comes into sight, a mask of impassiveness sliding onto his face.

They walk into the building side by side with the case at the forefront of both of their minds. Watson spots Marcus first and he looks utterly exhausted. He's cradling a cup of coffee listening to another detective rattle on details that she can't hear from this distance.

"Someone order lunch?" Marcus looks up at them then with a grateful smile. Judging by his demeanor he's been here all morning, likely called in when they brought in Lara Noel and swept up in the next case without break in between.

"You are an angel." Out of the corner of her eye she sees Sherlock feign offense. "You're alright too."

"So the case,"

"It's a mess. We've got several murders being accounted for but none of them know names." Watson takes a peek at the files noting the names of each of the apparent murderers.

"You're kidding me right?"

"My thoughts exactly."

Sherlock looks between the two of them, confusion etched in his face. "Clearly I'm missing out on something, care to fill me in."

"The Williams, The Lees, Riveras, Jones, Murphy. These are some of the richest people in New York right now why the hell would they be confessing to multiple murders. They could wave a check and someone would confess for them." When her explanation is met with a blank look from her partner she divulges further. "Alison and Jameson Williams own A&J Law Firm, Mae and Simon Lee are software architects building new programs currently working on renovating facial software for lie detection, Martin and Sloan Rivera are scientific analysts who study pathogenic diseases, Emma Jones runs one of the biggest volunteer profits for the homeless in New York City, and Lena Murphy she's a software developer but rarely in the spotlight."

"Until her husband was shot in a mugging gone wrong three months ago, I remember her name." Sherlock nods eyes combing over the files. "What would compel all of them to confess all at once."

"They have to be connected in some way. Personal relationships or something."

"Do you consider children roughly in the same age group attending school together a well enough connection?" He shows a photo on his phone of six teenagers posing for a selfie. "I'd say so."

Sherlock steps to the boardroom housing the eight potential murderers opening the door for them to step inside first. The best way to start would be to get individual accounts, make sure their stories line up. Sherlock and Gregson take the first half of the suspects and she and Marcus take the second. Her fingers barely brush Sherlock's hand as he takes away Simon Lee. From the relaxing of his shoulders she knows he noticed without alerting Marcus or Gregson to the silent action. It's going to be a long day after all they need all the comfort they can get.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Already into the third interrogation Watson is exhausted. She cradles a cup of coffee brought to her by another detective with a sympathetic smile. Thus far, they'd investigated Sloan Rivera and Emma Jones but they got nothing more than a cluster of botched explanations and "I don't knows". It was evident that they were nothing more than pawns in the murders but conspirators nonetheless. They had enough information to give descriptions of two victims to a sketch artist. They've already sent photos to Mason in hopes of IDing them at least.

"Hey," Marcus places a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Lunch break is up and they got Lena Murphy lined up in there for us. You ready?"

"Yeah. Sorry just running what we got so far through my head."

"Wouldn't take long." She lets out a bitter laugh in agreement. "Sherlock and the captain haven't had much luck either. From what I could overhear Simon Lee is a 'blithering idiot for a technological genius' and Jameson Williams is 'more dull than a children's crayon'." She rolls her eyes fighting the smiling pulling at her lips. "Hey it's his words not mine."

"Let's just get this over with. The sooner we get out of here the sooner I can have coffee that's not from the station's machine."

"Actually I just sent Mayer to McGregor's to get our orders." She gapes at him for a moment. "Don't thank me I owed you guys for bringing me lunch earlier."

Their amicable conversation fades away when they reach the door to the interrogation room. Lena Murphy sits on the other side of the table with one wrist bound to the table by handcuffs. From immediate character analysis she strikes her as a demure woman. Soft spoken and definitely not likely to commit a murder but at the same time she's seen first hand at how well cons can play the people around them.

"Lena Murphy. My name is Detective Bell and this is my associate. We are going to ask you a few questions about the murder-"

"Xavier Corbero." Her eyes flash to Marcus as the woman speaks up. "We- I killed a man named Xavier Corbero."

"You said we."

"It doesn't matter if it was me and my husband anymore does it." She wipes away the tears building in her eyes with her unchained arm. "He told me not to care but I couldn't do it. I learned his name, his life…"

"So you're admitting that you and your husband killed Xavier Corbero."

"Yes." She sniffles but no more tears fall. From what she can gather, Murphy is telling the truth.

"Why?" An odd look settles over the woman's face. Her skin goes pale and her breathing increases ever so slightly.

"He came to us. Six years ago." Lena closes her eyes letting out a shaky breath. "He came with blackmail material and said we had to help him with his cause." She spits.

"Who came to you?"

"He said his name was Liam Miller but Mae looked into it and didn't find any indication of a Liam Miller that looks like him." She looks down at the corner of the desk and initially Watson would attribute to that action of a lie if she weren't shaking like a leaf. "It was small stuff. We flubbed data, cut corners on safety precautions, planting evidence. But it was enough to run all of our businesses into the ground. We would have lost our life's work. All of us." Another deep breath. "But then he asked us to get rid of someone. Naturally we freaked. We all thought he was insane. We're not killers… We.. weren't killers."

"Ms. Murphy."

"I'm getting somewhere I promise." She sighs. "We all tried to bail. We couldn't even think of how to kill someone much less actually commit the act. But he-" Finally she looks up meeting Watson's eyes with a chilling stare. "Mae's girl, Amanda overdosed on painkillers and they found her the next morning in her bed. He all but admitted that he coerced her into committing suicide. It was a crystal clear message. We cooperate or our kids would die."

"Why didn't you come to the police?"

"We were too afraid. It was like he had eyes everywhere. He had detailed accounts of what my son was doing at school I don't know how he could have possibly known. Stuff that I didn't even know!" Her leg begins to bounce beneath the table, likely a nervous habit. "He was sick. He gave us names of people,"

"Victims?"

"Killers. Serial killers." She rubs the bridge of her nose, likely as exhausted as the both of them. "He would give us names of serial killers and make us… recreate the crimes. If he wasn't satisfied there would be repercussions."

"Repercussions." Marcus sounds as skeptical as her but she doesn't dismiss anything yet.

"I know you don't believe me but ask Alison. She kept records of everything. She thought we might need them in the future."

"And this wouldn't have been helpful to tell us this in the first place?"

"What changed?" She shifts, clearly Marcus had struck a nerve. Her chin wobbles for a second and Watson actually wonders if she's going to burst into tears.

"Our kids got away... ran away. We don't know where they are. But they're safer than they were here."

"She wanted to wait until we were all together after we were individually questioned."

"But you didn't agree." Murphy stiffens all but confirming Watson's suspicions. "The others don't take you very seriously do they? They never have."

"I'm done answering questions." The meek persona slides back over her and Marcus guides her back out. Only one more to go. While peeking out the window in the door she catches a glimpse of Sherlock. He looks so focused, lips drawn tight as he cycles information through his mind once more. Before he can notice, though, Marcus and another cop have Alison Williams coming through the door. She is quickly chained to the table and they're alone once again.

"Alison Williams, I've heard of your work. You're lawfirm is quite successful."

"I only hire the best." From the smug smile alone Watson knows that this round will be starkly different from the last. Mrs. Williams holds herself high with confidence, that much shows in her all white attire. She's practically calling attention to herself wherever she goes. Dark eyes turn on her meeting her with the same curious gaze. "Ms. Watson I presume? I've heard of your… work as well." Great just another person ripe with knowledge of the "controversies", as the NSA deemed them, rifled through her and Sherlock's work.

"We do our best." She defends.

"Now Mrs. Williams let's cut to the chase," Marcus interrupts. "Lena Murphy already told us a lot. She said you have records documenting the murders."

The older woman rolls her eyes. "I knew she couldn't listen." She fixes her blouse with her free hand as she leans against the table. "I do. In my bag in your conference room. But I'd rather share them with the entire class present."

"Who is Liam?"

"Our… employer." She says it with a self satisfied grin filling Joan with disgust.

"Employer?"

"He didn't pay us. Not in the traditional sense at least. We got gifts from him. Sometimes it was a connection our people couldn't see before, others it's a full ride scholarship for our kids to the college of their choice. If we didn't well, then he made us pay."

"How?" It's no longer a question as much as it is a demand.

A cold gaze settles on Joan once more. The ice in the dark eyes has the power to send chills up and down her spine yet she doesn't move. This woman clearly has no remorse. In fact, she almost seems to revel in the attention. "Tell me Ms. Watson, how far would you go if you knew Mr. Holmes was in danger?"

"Excuse me?"

"It's a simple question. Would you hurt a defenseless person? Kill them? Listen to them beg for mercy and swear that they didn't do anything wrong?" A look of almost excitement slips over her face. "Have you?"

"That's enough." Marcus barks.

"You love him don't you? It's quite new, the longing looks and passing touches. It's sweet actually. I did everything I did for the ones I love. Wouldn't you do the same?"

She doesn't let her facade betray her only throwing her a look of vague confusion. Marcus, seeming as finished with this interrogation as she feels, takes Alison Williams out of the room with a strong grip. She waits three beats before she exits as well. She's careful to keep her steps confident as she struts to the bathroom, the conversation still lingering in the back of her mind. She can't shake the feeling trapped in her chest feeling like it's going to suffocate her.

She pushes her way into the ladies room careful to make sure that she's alone before letting her emotions overwhelm her. The tautness in her chest makes it hard to breathe so she unbuttons her jacket, shaking fingers clutching the sides of the porcelain sink. She's done a lot for Sherlock and her friends in the past, guilt haunts her behind closed doors but she'd do it again in a heartbeat. Still the cold gaze of Alison Williams stays with her as she stares into the white sink trying to catch her breath.

"Joan!" Her name nearly sends her jumping out of her skin. She spins around quickly to find Sherlock looking down at her, concern etched into his features. "You didn't answer me the first three times I called to you I thought,"

"I'm okay." She whispers. He crosses the line first, fingers reaching to her cheek.

"What happened?" His voice feels so wrong compared to his hand on her, all gruff and threatening while his fingertips barely brush the tendrils of hair that had fallen from the tight updo. He's so gentle with her, as if he's afraid she might disappear if he dares to touch her more than a passing caress.

"She found us out. Alison Williams knew about us." She turns her head finding comfort in his touch, as if the warmth of his hand could chase away the chills plaguing her. "I thought we were careful."

"We are." He pulls her eyes to his, now grasping her anchoring her to the earth. "Alison Williams is a remarkable lawyer. I've had the benefit and misfortune of seeing her in action once before. She's like us Watson, she's a master at deduction. Except she uses her powers for evil."

He dips his head to leave a whisper of a kiss on her hairline. It steadies her and all she can do is cling to his jacket, holding him close to her. They remain like that until her resolve returns to her. His thumb caresses her cheek until she dares to look up at him. Crossing the short distance to place a soft, sweet kiss on his lips. His forehead rests against hers and they revel in the quiet moment.

"You don't have long before Marcus becomes worried."

"I know." She sighs slowly releasing her grip on him. He squeezes her against him once more before letting go as well. They linger in the tight space between them before a knock interrupts their moment.

"Joan? You alright?" He shoots her a look that radiates with 'I told you so' that she elbows him lightly.

"Yeah I'll be out in a minute." She calls back to Marcus.

She bids Sherlock goodbye and steps out as if nothing was ever wrong. She raises her head ready to dive into the case once again.


	10. Chapter 10

**This is it! Wow I can't believe I've been writing this story for over 2 years. I finally got enough of an idea together to piece together the final chapter. Thanks a lot to Mislav again for requesting this fic, it's truly been a treasure to write and to receive help from you when I got stuck and it was great to get your lovely holiday messages. Thanks to everyone else who stuck through with this one even when I take long breaks because I do dumb shit like lose my laptop charger for a month straight. But this is it for Beautiful. Hopefully I'll get another one cranking out soon enough.**

Sherlock rubs the bridge of his nose in frustration. It's been nearly a week since they had taken the case against Liam Miller and thus far they have no sign that the man had ever even existed. Any lead they found turned to dead ends and even Everyone seemed at a loss for this mystery man. He's had Mason go through every database to see if he could find a facial match for this man, but still to no avail. Either they were all making up this man or he's effectively disappeared.

The sound of the door opening calls his attention but he does not look up. Watson greets the delivery man kindly and engages in polite pleasantries before closing the door once more. "Thai's here!" He follows her footsteps until she stops right behind him. "And you haven't moved since I left."

"We're missing something."

"You're obsessing."

"Of course I am. There's a missing sociopath on the loose and we don't even know his name."

"They could be lying. Delays their cases in court until they can get solid attorneys to reduce their sentences as much as possible." She shrugs unpacking the food from the paper bag.

"What would be the point in confessing? Besides, I refuse to believe an imbecile like Simon Lee could fool my lie detection."

"Even though he and his wife were literally designing a machine that could track lies better than a polygraph." She deadpans. "No case while eating, you'll get food all over the papers." She plucks the file from his hand tossing it onto the ever growing pile of folders and loose papers. "They only packed one set of chopsticks you'll have to go get a fork from the kitchen." She folds herself neatly into the spot next to him crossing her legs beneath her.

"Why do you get the chopsticks?"

"Finders keepers." She shrugs simply. He ponders her for a minute teetering between giving in and going to fetch a fork or arguing his point. He settles for another tactic in the end delivering a swift jab to the side of her ribs. He'd discovered one night when she flinched away from his touch that Watson's sides are extremely ticklish. She lets out a cry of betrayal folding in on herself to protect from further attacks. Using her brief moment of distraction he snatches the chopsticks from her fingers with a triumphant grin.

The look on her face displays utter shock and a flash of determination. He's now tempted the beast inside of her and he knows this is going to be a battle between the two of them. She moves quickly on him using high ground to try and reach for the utensils, which he now held high in the air. Even with her sitting atop him she's just out of reach of them. However, he realizes far too late that reaching them was never her plan in the first place. Using the diversion of her raised hand, her other attacks his exposed underarm tickling him just as he had her. Yet she doesn't stop when she retrieves the chopsticks once more. Rather, she continues her assault while he squirms beneath her.

"Watson!" He pleads between laughter. Still she doesn't stop, he does the only thing he can think of doing and leans forward nipping at her exposed collar bone. Her movements cease immediately and she stares at him in shock.

"Did you just bite me?" She laughs, a melodic tone that chases away all of his playfulness. He loves her laugh almost as much as he loves her frustrated shout of his name. "You're such a child."

"Weren't you just the one who said finders keepers?" He fires back but still he's enraptured by the sight of her. Her cheeks are flushed from laughter, loose tendrils fallen out of the messy bun that had secured her hair to the top of her head. They'd mainly remained in the Brownstone, aside from him taking a short trip to retrieve new copies of the files, so she's without makeup allowing her freckles to shine through the dim light of the living room. Her legs are straddling his waist making the moment all the more difficult to contain himself. He waits, though, until her eyes seem to settle into the same mood as he. Her dark gaze flickers from his eyes to his mouth and back again, her breath catches as he takes the small signal as permission to press his lips against the smooth column of her throat.

"Sherlock," A gasp escapes her as he trails over the spot he just bit. His tongue laps against her skin sending her hips bucking against his. Her fingers pull his shirt free from their tuck into his pants making quick work of the buttons along her way. His own trail up her bare thighs teasing the edge of the pj shorts she's wearing. Once she's finished with the buttons he leans forwards so that she can push his shirt off of his shoulders, exposing his chest to her. With his new position he nudges aside her tee planting kisses and bites to her collar bone.

She shucks off her cardigan first and then her tee shirt revealing her breasts to his willing gaze. He takes advantage of the new expanse as his hands roam up her back. As he catches a nipple in between his lips, he pulls her hair free burying his fingers in the dark strands. A sensuous moan vibrates from her chest as her hands hold his neck, clinging him to her. He kicks off his shoes before flipping them on the couch so that she's pinned beneath him. She pulls her head to his as their lips finally meet, tongues tangling in a secret dance. She whines into his mouth as he presses his hips against hers letting her know just how much he wants this.

Finally they pull apart for air and he sits up to remove his pants. He kicks them away along with his boxers as she does the same. "I need you." Her voice is laden with lust as she pulls him back to her, wrapping her legs around his back. He braces his hands next to her head as he lines up. What's remaining of his sense screams a word at him, condom. They'd been exclusive since they kissed the second time, when she wasn't drunk. Still, every time they've had sex they've used protection. However, this being their first journey outside of the bedroom he's beginning to wonder if he should hide them in possible places throughout the Brownstone that are more accessible than his previous ones. Though previously he was hiding them from her. Now he needs them for her. His mind wanders momentarily picturing some lovely hiding spots on the roof where they could get carried away.

"Sherlock." Her plea brings him back.

"Condom." He groans in return. He doesn't want to leave her touch. Not now.

"Desk." She hums against his skin, perfect teeth marking him as her own. She smiles against his shoulder as if she could see his expression as his mind connects the dots. She's already hidden some. The thought sends electricity up and down his spine and he kisses her once again telling her exactly how wonderful she is with no words spoken. Excitement burns within him to find all the places with her. He reaches up pulling out the drawer and sure enough a condom sits just within his reach.

He makes quick work of the packaging sliding it on to himself. She watches his face the entire time lips slightly parted breathing heavily. He lines himself up sliding into her easily. The movement pushes her head against the arm of the couch as her nails dig into his back. He starts his rhythm slow and torturous only dragging against her. He mimics the movements with his lips, just barely brushing the skin of her neck allowing her to feel his hot breath fanning against her. He lets the thoughts of the case, of Liam Miller and the mystery surrounding them fade into the background. His focus is too preoccupied by the small noises that he can feel against his mouth. Little whimpers that wouldn't be heard if he were anyone else. She's holding them in, he can feel it in the tension in her jaw.

"I want to hear you." He rasps brushing his stubble against her skin. He'd long ago discovered that she loves the feel of it against her, especially when he's buried between her legs.

"I want you to go faster." She challenges tightening her legs around him. He can do little but obey. He wants to know all he can about her. He can't get enough of it. He can't get enough of her. His strokes gain grow quicker and harder and as his reward she tosses her head back, her moans and sighs mixing in the air with the sounds of them coming together.

He groans her name against her skin as her ankles dig into the backs of his thighs. Her nails are scraping down his back sure to leave angry red marks in their place but he can't bring himself to care when she's thrown all abandon out the window and let him see her a glimpse at her so out of control.

"Fuck!" Her hips buck as he hits a spot deep within her interrupting their rhythm. He curls his in response hitting again the same spot repeatedly. He can feel her thighs trembling against his and her breathing escaping arrhythmically. It only takes three more taps against that spot before her jaw drops open in a silent scream and she shakes apart beneath him. He allows himself to let go as well since he'd been holding himself against the edge since her whimpers began. As he falls into the abyss he's struck by the thought that there's no other he'd rather cling to in oblivion than her.

He places one last rapturous kiss against his shoulder as they both come down from their highs. When her legs release their death grip on his hips, he slips out of her tying off the condom and disposing it in the trash can that he'd initially dragged into the room for discarded theories but he much prefers this use.

He flips them over so that she lies against his chest as they cool down in post-coital bliss. He can feel her lips huffing breaths against his shoulder, he can feel it in how her diaphragm expands raising her back. Her fingers find the tattoo on his hip tracing the design in peaceful tranquility.

The doorbell quickly breaks their moment, eyes flashing up to each other in alarm. Relaxing, forgotten they pull on their clothes as quickly as possible. He goes to the door while Watson disappears into the back rooms, likely to make herself look less ravaged. He opens the door finding a tired looking Marcus holding a file.

"Is there a reason you two aren't answering your phones?" The detective questions upon seeing him.

"Apologies. We were conducting an experiment."

"Just keep your phones near you okay?" He asks to which Sherlock gives a jerky nod. He casts a glance to the archway when he sees movement from his peripheral. Watson stands listening into the conversation but otherwise doesn't make her presence known. "We found the kids."

"Are they unharmed?"

"Their at a hotel in Massachusetts. I got some guys keeping an eye on them but for now we're just going to let them be as long as they're not causing any trouble." He passes him the file and he flips it open to see a capture from a recording that caught the son of Lena Murphy on it. "He checked in under the name Tom Marvolvo, had an ID and everything. How the kid got the money and resources so fast I couldn't tell you."

"Do you think one of the parents helped them escape?" Marcus shrugs rubbing between his eyes. "Thank you Marcus." He says goodbye to the detective offering to greet Watson for him despite her standing just out of sight. Once the door closes he turns to his partner who is laughing quietly.

"Well that was close."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sherlock glances at the clock for the fourth time that morning, waiting for an "appropriate" time to wake Watson. They had long ago agreed on a minimum time he could wake her unless it was absolutely imperative to the case at hand. As the hand on the clock crosses to 5:30 he bounds up the steps two at a time ready to go wake her with a checkers table boxed and tucked beneath his arm. He pushes the door open slowly allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness in the room. When his sight is clear it is very apparent that Watson is not in her bed.

Unreasonable panic seizes in his chest. He hadn't heard her get up to go to the bathroom but he checks regardless. Empty. Against logic he checks every room on the top floor with absolutely no sign of her. "Watson!" He calls her name unable to control his fears now. There's no signs of a break in, the logic screams but it's quickly snuffed by fear. He runs around the next level shouting her name not caring about being a considerate roommate or neighbor.

In a last ditch effort he faces the cold without a coat, running to the back door where their basement entrance is. He pushes the door open immediately noting light filtering from the other room. He holds his breath not knowing what he will find as he rounds the corner.

He nearly weeps in relief when he spies Watson asleep at her desk on top of a pile of papers. Allowing himself a moment to catch his breath he gently wakes her with a hand on her shoulder.

She startles despite the gentle touch, glasses finally slipping off her face and clanging loudly onto the floor. She blinks blearily up at him murmuring apologies. He feels the panic edge away and he sighs settling into the chair beside her. "You didn't hear me shouting your name." Even in her sleep ridden state she can register the lingers of fear. Concern clouds her gaze pulling her into full consciousness quickly.

"I was down here all night. I thought you heard me come down." He shakes his head. "I must've fallen asleep." She picks her glasses back up pulling one of the files closer to her to show to him. "After Marcus left I couldn't shake that something was up with this whole thing. Like Liam Miller exists but we can't find any record of him whatsoever."

"It's an alias."

"Lena Murphy's son used the name 'Tom Marvolvo' to check into the motel, right?" He nods in confirmation of what she surely already knows. "Well it's from Harry Potter. It's an anagram by used for exposition by the villian. The anagram is 'Tom Marvolvo Ridde' but he reveals it to mean 'I am Lord Voldemort.' So I thought, 'What if Liam Miller is an anagram?'" She stands walking over to a chalkboard with nearly 60 results written neatly. She points to one she underlined glancing back at him.

"Rille al mim?" He echoes, confused.

"I knew it sounded familiar so I did some digging. 'Rille Al Mim' is a spell. It's appeared in one of the books in the first issue of Doctor Strange. I recognized it because Oren had a replica of this book when he was growing up. He and a couple of his friends made it."

"What does this have to do with Liam Miller?"

"I'm getting there." She moves quickly back to her desk. "A couple weeks ago Oren called laughing about how one of the original prints for the first issue of Doctor Strange sold for $1.2 million. The buyer was an absolute fanatic and boasted on issues that he had entire collections. But, in the interest of keeping himself private he insisted that no pictures be taken of him and any interview would use a pseudonym." She turns the computer to him revealing the headline of the article she was pulling up. "Rille al mim. So I contacted Everyone and tracked this guy's IP Address. It leads back to a business, Dorian Entertainment which nobody has gotten a photograph of the notoriously private CEO. Only drawings." She switches the tab revealing one of the photographs to be a nearly perfect match for their mystery man.

Even after all of these years he still feels a swell of pride in his chest when Watson makes a successful deduction and this time is not an exception. He can't help the smile that blooms on his face. "Remarkable." He places a kiss to her forehead unable to contain his pride in her. "You're remarkable."

"We would've found it out eventually. We always do." She blushes but her own smile says it all. He drags out the chair not far from her to begin formulating their plan on how to catch this man.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

In the end it's a stakeout that requires their expertise. They lack evidence to connect Dorian Lancaster and thus retrieve a warrant. All they need is to get a photo with the man in the background, question one of the parents if this is the man they knew as Liam Miller, and that should be enough.

Sure enough a press event on a yacht provides a perfect cover for the two of them. Posing as his date and aided by his father's overwhelming influence, he and Watson infiltrate the party. He does his best not to fidget with the bowtie considering the heavy dress Watson needed to succumb to. She flashes him a quick smile before they part. They'd agreed two days prior that splitting up would be the best tactic at getting the picture they need. It would aid them to work as quickly as humanly possible. Should he strike again or should there be more families this man is blackmailing it could be mere moments before another body gets added to the list.

Combing through the crowd turns out, is easier said than done. The boat is flooded with press and celebrities alike. It does not do well for his senses and he finds himself overwhelmed quickly. The flashing of cameras constantly calls for his attention as well as the music that thumps so loudly he can feel the bass shaking his chest. He keeps focused on the tip of the boat to keep himself grounded, so to say. Watson would suffice as an anchor but he hasn't spotted her since they arrived nearly an hour ago now.

Finally, it's a blue suit that captures his attention. The man moves too quickly for Sherlock to say with certainty that he's the man they're looking for so he follows in pursuit. The man stops occasionally to make small talk but he seems to move with a purpose across the boat. His eyes remain focused on him, now able to drown out the other distractions. He simply needs the man to turn so he can snap a picture.

He considers throwing his voice and calling for the man to get his attention. This thought is interrupted when he spies the midnight blue dress Watson was sporting straight ahead. Surely enough, her back is turned to the steadily approaching two. Yet, it's her phone held above her head that tells him she's all too aware of their presence. In the guise of an innocent selfie she's able to snap a picture of the man moving. He smiles with pride yet again, leave it to Watson to beat him to the punch. Since that's all they need they can slip right out with none the wiser knowing they were even there.

"Miss Watson!" Sherlock's heart sinks as a voice that is very much not his, calls out her name. Even staring at the back of his head, he knows the shout had come from their suspect. How did he know who she is and what does he want from her.

She spins around with an all too innocent smile. She raises an eyebrow as if she didn't know who he was or how many were killed under his power.

He's too far to stop what happens. Two hands grasp her by the shoulders and push her over the railing. She disappears over the edge with barely a shout of surprise.

"Watson!" Panic seizes through his entire body as he moves into action. He kicks off both shoes and shucks his jacket off his shoulders without a thought to it. In the seconds it takes him to rid of clothes that could pull him down into the black depths, he's calculated exactly how much air she'd have. Should she be unconscious there's no telling how he could find her. Only the ripple of the dark waters marks where she was. Still he leaps over the side. He gives not a moment of thought to their fleeing killer. He can't spare a moment when he can't see her coming back up.

He breaks the surface after his dive, water flicking off of him as he desperately looks around for any sign of life. "Watson!" He shouts again. He can hear the distant screams of onlookers spotting him in the water getting help. He's not the one who needs it though, can't they see.

He dives under the water despite his better judgement. In the dark of the night there's not a chance he'd be able to see more than five feet in front of him beneath the surface. Her dress will weigh her down. Even if she's conscious, she won't be able to fight that for long.

A flash of a light and frantic shouting pulls him from his doubt. Following the flashlights' beams he sees it just as they do. Pale skin breaks the surface for a moment before disappearing again. He swims to her as fast as he possibly can, heart pounding in his ears. Slim fingers grasp the front of his dress shirt and he almost sobs with relief.

He pulls her by the arms above water where she takes gulping breaths of air. It's awkward, holding her up and keeping them both above water at the same time but he has her. She's breathing.

Another boat rescues them in record time thanks to the assistance of those who were on board. On shore they're separated to check for injuries. Despite his many protests, he relents to the check up. He hadn't suffered from the fall at all, in fact he dove into the water. The paramedics, however, don't seem to see it from his side at all. He taps his foot waiting to get the all clear so he can just see her damn it.

Just as they were finishing, however, damp black hair catches his eyes. She walks towards him slowly, still shivering despite the heavy blanket draped over her shoulders. No amount of paramedics could keep him seated as he rushed to her. He grips her neck pressing her forehead against his as if she'd disappear if she strayed any further. Emotions rush to the surface all at once as he imagines all of the horrific ways he could have lost her over the years. But for her to just be gone without him ever knowing if she lived. It was the worst fate.

"Hey," Watson whispers shaking fingers coming to rest on his cheeks. "I'm okay. I'm here." He can't stop the tears that slide down his face as he mentally thanks those who spotted her before him. Had it not been for the obnoxious amount of people, god. "Sherlock." He opens his eyes meeting her dark ones, a soft smile on her face. "I'm here." A gentle thumb brushes away the tears and he allows her presence to sweep over him. Her all too calm nature, the smell of her shampoo, the once silky dress pressed against his front.

God, they must be a sight.

With a little bit of time they find that thanks to the police force surrounding the boat, Dorian Lancaster was swiped up as he attempted to make his escape. The press pictures of his arrest would be more than enough to identify him whether Watson's phone survives the ordeal or not. It's Marcus who dismisses him that night. Any further investigations could be done in the morning. For now they needed to get home and rest.

But rest is the furthest thing from Sherlock's mind. Not when he had come so close to losing her. Not when should she have died there'd be so much left unsaid.

Still Watson takes the advice seriously, taking a short shower before retiring to her bed. He tries all he can to do any sort of work but the memories are too fresh. The pain and panic resting in his chest all too real. He'd only felt the tempting of it when he thought she was gone, but to watch her fall. It was horrific.

The flashing of the memory is what leads him here. Standing over her bed with her back turned to him. Any other time he'd recognize the arrhythmic breathing as an indicator that she was still awake. Any other time he'd be able to resist the pull of his emotions. Any other time but right now. He pulls his shirt off before climbing into bed behind her. His arms wrap around her frame, wrapped in her cardigan, pressing his face between her shoulder blades. He feels more than hears her sigh in content as she settles into the embrace.

So many words rush to the forefront of his mind. Words he thought he'd never say to anyone. He wants so badly to tell her how much she means to him, how important she is. He can't bring himself to. Not when it'd be so easy to lose her. Not when so many people seem more than eager to pull them apart.

Yet it's the gentle squeeze on his hand that tells him more than enough. She knows. She feels the same. She is okay.

He makes it his mantra as he drifts off to sleep holding her in his arms.


End file.
